


The man behind the mask

by Mermaid70 (Smiff)



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Modern Era, Pandemics, References to Dickens, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29802768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smiff/pseuds/Mermaid70
Summary: This is a short story of only a few chapters. Yes, it's a pandemic story. Nobody dies (onstage). There's very little drama in fact - Tom is nice and there's no Eliza. Hooray! There are some references to homelessness and drug addiction, but other than that it's a mushy romance. Honest!It's December 2020, just before Christmas. Charlotte comes to a well-known English town (not Sanditon) to do some research and meets a mysterious man behind a mask. What will happen when they both reveal their true natures to each other?Thanks to Dejong and Renee, whose Covid stories I so enjoyed (I don't know if there are any others). Now that there's a glimmer of hope on the horizon, I've finally found the courage to write my own, which has been playing around in my head for many months. I'm quite certain it's not an original idea, but I've had fun with it. Imagine meeting Sidney Parker every day but not really knowing what he looks like!
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood & Sidney Parker
Comments: 270
Kudos: 257





	1. Sweet Expectations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sanditon Squad](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sanditon+Squad).



Early every morning, Sidney saw her hurrying along the High Street, muffled up against the early December cold in a long, black, woollen coat that seemed to engulf her petite, slender frame. Smart black boots on her feet, a cherry-red knitted hat sitting snugly over long, light brown curls that bounced lightly against the top of her coat collar, protecting her neck from the bitter wind that rose up from the river. All he could glimpse of her face as she scuttled past was a cute little turned-up nose and shapely dark eyebrows.

Every morning for the last week, she had passed his shop, and sometimes, if he was lucky, he would spot her strolling back in the other direction in the early evenings, just as he was closing up. But she rarely glanced into the window of his delicatessen café and had certainly never noticed him. Her attention was focused elsewhere. Standing in the window, he craned his neck to watch her progress up the High Street, small gloved hands curled into a ball, pausing in her journey every so often to drop a few coins into the grateful palm of one of the destitute men or women huddling in the doorways of the abandoned shops.

Sidney shook his head. Probably a tourist. A local would have known that most of the down-and-outs who targeted the High Street at specific times of the day – catching people going or coming from work, or weekend shoppers - were professional beggars and that any money they received would most likely be immediately spent on drink or drugs. Some of them even had flats to live in, or were part of the small village of tents pitched by the river. All of them could have gone to hostels if they so wished – provision had been stepped up during the current crisis – although the hostels had strict rules about drugs, so it was kind of understandable that they ended up here, piling up their bedding – sleeping bags and duvets donated by local residents – in the shop doorways, sitting morosely on the cold, hard pavement, begging for change. This woman was obviously some kind of bleeding-heart liberal, trying to make herself feel better by parting with her hard-earned cash. Sidney chided himself inwardly. That was unfair. Perhaps she just cared. As he observed her, he realised she wasn’t just chucking them coins, she was crouching down on the floor, getting dangerously close to their faces in fact, chatting to them, even placing a hand on their shoulder. He admired her for that, in a way, finding himself increasingly intrigued by her, wondering who she was and what she was doing in Cloisterham. Although he was happy for Arthur to donate leftover food and drink to them on occasion, he never approached them himself. Not because he disapproved, just that he felt a little awkward. Also, he knew one of them rather well.

Charlotte wrapped her cosy, hand-knitted scarf tightly around her neck, shrinking into its warmth, keeping her hands firmly encased in the pockets of her long black coat as she made her way along the High Street towards the museum. She had only been in Cloisterham for just over a week and every day, she found something new to attract her interest during her daily journeys through the town centre. It was a long, narrow, straggling High Street with gabled buildings, crooked doorways, and twisting lanes leading off from the main thoroughfare. Charlotte gazed up at the clear, bright, ice grey winter sky, the towering, higgledy-piggledy roofs on different levels, a golden weathervane perched on the topmost turret of one of the tallest buildings, a large, moon-faced clock protruding out from the Corn Exchange, the tall grey spire of the cathedral dwarfing everything else. An eclectic assortment of independent retailers, charity shops, restaurants and cafés, most of them sadly displaying CLOSED signs and notices in the windows, promising they were “looking forward to welcoming you again very soon”. She wondered how many of them would. The High Street was devoid of the chain stores and branded coffee shops usually found in British towns these days, and if you ignored the odd car parked here and there, and the brightly coloured cardboard signs exhorting people to wash their hands and remember their face coverings, it really didn’t look that much different to how it would have looked in Dickens' time. Certainly the men – and occasional woman – huddled in the abandoned shop doorways, dirty, cold and undernourished, could have come straight from the pages of a Dickens novel, save for the cardboard cups they clutched in their chapped hands, to collect the meagre offerings from passers-by.

As she passed near the deli, one of the few places that was regularly open, a figure bunched up in a brightly-coloured, yet rather mucky blanket, called out the all-too-familiar refrain.

“Spare any change please, love?”

Charlotte crouched down to his level. She had seen this man every day for the past week, and given him money every day too, yet he displayed no recognition of her. Indeterminate in age, yet probably much younger than he looked, he raised his watery, glazed eyes to meet hers.

“Here you are,” she said softly, pressing a pound coin into his hand. “Get yourself something to eat.” She knew full well he wouldn’t; she knew full well what he would probably spend it on. She wondered if she should buy him food instead, but it was cold, it was winter, they were in the middle of a pandemic and the man just wanted a bit of cash to get what he needed and get through the day.

“Thanks darling,” he said with a toothy grin. Just then, two young men passed by, noticing the transaction between them. To Charlotte’s horrified surprise, they began to berate her for her charity.

“What you giving him money for, you fucking idiot? Are you stupid or something?”

She was taken aback but stood her ground. “What business is it of yours what I do with my money?” she asked in a cold, firm tone.

“Because it’s soft twats like you that keep these fucking muppets on our streets, that’s why. We don’t want them here. And we don’t want you here either.” The more brazen of the two men was leering into her face, poking his finger at her. Charlotte flinched, moving backwards as quickly as she could, almost stumbling on the pavement. Suddenly, she felt a pair of strong arms around her, steadying her, and a man’s deep voice that came out of nowhere.

“Oi! Leave this lady alone. Who do you think you are? Get out of here!” he said in a sharp, commanding tone, yet without overt aggression.

The two men raised their arms in surrender. “Alright mate. Keep your hair on.” And they sloped off towards the car park.

Charlotte spun round in surprise. Whoever it was still had his large hands firmly clutched on her arms. She looked up into a pair of deep brown eyes and a mop of dark, wavy hair, but the rest of his features were obscured by a black face mask. “Sorry,” he said, releasing his grip and retreating several steps backwards. “I thought you might fall.”

“It’s fine,” she smiled. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.” It was the guy from the deli; tall, youngish, his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, a white apron tied around his well-built frame. She’d seen him in the window once or twice, but had never quite plucked up the courage to go inside.

Sidney stared back at her, mesmerised. Under her red knitted beanie, he was astonished to see that she was the owner of a pair of the most beautiful eyes he had ever beheld. Hazel-coloured, bright and lively, framed by gorgeous, mascara-tipped lashes. That cute button nose was red from the cold and below it lay a pair of plump, juicy pink lips which were raised towards him in a wide smile.

He stuck his hands in his pockets to disguise his embarrassment at being caught staring at her. “Sorry about those idiots,” he said. “You get a lot of them round here, unfortunately. You’re not from here, I take it?”

“Why do you say that?” As her laugh tinkled through the cold air, a small cloud of steam rose from her mouth.

“Oh, err... just that I’ve seen you walking past, but only in the last week or so. You don’t seem local, that’s all, I don’t know why.” Although he was heartily sick of wearing it all day long, for once Sidney was glad of the face mask, as he knew he was turning bright red. What kind of rubbish was coming out of his mouth? What on earth must she think of him?

But she smiled at him kindly. “I’m here for a few weeks, for work. I’m from Winchester, in Hampshire. Hardly a foreign country.”

“No, quite.” He looked down at his shoes, shuffling his feet a little. He decided it best to change the subject. They had both all but forgotten about the poor man sitting on the pavement. “Look here, why don’t you come inside... and I’ll give you a pastry and a cup of tea for George here.”

“George?”

“Yes, that’s your name, isn’t it mate?” George nodded up at Sidney. “He’s here every day,” he said to Charlotte. “Most nights too.”

“Okay,” she smiled, slipping the elastic of her own face mask over her ears, and following Sidney into the café, which bore the name ‘Sweet Expectations’. Although, as Charlotte now realised with surprised delight, it was more than just a café, it was a whole food emporium. The interior was brightly lit and painted in modernistic red, yellow and white colour blocks, there were wooden shelves lining the walls piled high with bags of pasta, sugar, flour, eggs, tins of food and packaged goods, and a long glass display case filled with all kinds of cheeses, meats, olives and other Mediterranean delicacies. Another section on the counter was covered in piles of delicious-smelling freshly baked bread, cakes and pastries, and a shiny silver machine behind the counter emitted a tantalising aroma of roasted coffee. There were a couple of tables and chairs in the window, although no customers were sitting there at present. A few arty prints and black and white photographs of old movie stars were dotted around the walls.

“Wow,” said Charlotte, entranced. “This is lovely. Like an old-fashioned store from the 50s or something. Quite Italian or Spanish, in a way.”

Sidney nodded. She wondered if he was smiling; his eyes seemed to indicate so, but it was hard to tell. He really did have gorgeous eyes, she thought dreamily. “Yes, we renovated it all last spring. It used to be just a normal café, selling coffee, cakes and sandwiches, but when the lockdown began, we decided to diversify and well, sell anything we could really. Eggs and flour especially.”

“And toilet rolls?” laughed Charlotte.

“No, we didn’t go that far,” he replied, with a rather charming chuckle, “but we started doing takeaway meals too. The Mediterranean theme – that’s all my brother Arthur’s idea, he’s the maestro in the kitchen, I can’t cook at all.” At that moment, another, slightly shorter, stockier, younger man, wearing a chef’s apron, emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of pies and mini quiches. He gave Charlotte a friendly smile and a nod.

“Face mask, Arthur,” sighed Sidney.

“Whoops, sorry,” said his brother, hitching up the mask balanced on his chin. Charlotte giggled as Arthur’s face had now turned into a duck. He arranged the items inside the glass display case and then retreated to the kitchen again.

“You should change the name,” enthused Charlotte, as her gaze drifted around the café, “to match your new theme.”

“Ah yes,” said Sidney, “that’s a bit of a sore point. The business actually belongs to my older brother, Tom, and he doesn’t want to change the name. They like their Dickens themed names round here, as you might have noticed.” She certainly had. There was a Fagin’s Café further down the High Street, a Mrs Bumbles sweet shop and even an Indian restaurant called A Taste of Two Cities.

“Three brothers?” said Charlotte, wide-eyed, her enthusiasm running away with her. “You could call it Los Tres Hermanos. Or maybe just The Brothers, Los Hermanos. What’s your surname?”

“Parker. Doesn’t quite fit, does it?”

“No, I suppose not. Tom Parker, that’s interesting… Anyway, could I get some pastries? Three plain croissants and three pains au chocolat. And three cups of tea and a latte please.”

“Bit hungry, are you?” he chuckled, as he moved towards the pastry display.

“No,” she laughed back, under her mask. “I’ll um... take them to some of the homeless people on my way to the museum. But the latte’s for me.”

“Oh, you’re working at the Dickens museum?”

“Yes, but only for a few weeks. I’m helping them with some research. I’ll go home at Christmas.”

If she could have seen his face, she would have noticed it fall at this point. He passed her the bag of pastries and the cardboard drinks holder and she paid with her card. “I slipped in an extra croissant just for you, by the way, um...?” He left the question hanging in the air.

“Oh, thank you. I’m Charlotte. Charlotte Harris. And you are?” she asked shyly, her head tilted to one side.

“Sidney.”

Her eyes registered surprise. “Unusual name these days. Like Sydney Carton.”

“Who?” Even with the mask, she could see that he was a little perplexed.

“He’s a Dickens character. You haven’t heard of him? A Tale of Two Cities.”

“Err, no.” He shook his head. “Can’t say I’ve ever read any Dickens. Despite coming from here.”

“You’re joking,” she laughed, then mentally kicked herself. Of course, she thought. He’s just a guy who works in a coffee shop. A good-looking guy from what she could tell, but it was unlikely they’d have that much in common, when you thought about it.

Sidney decided to change the subject again, but unfortunately for him, he picked the wrong topic. “Um... who’s that on your mask, Charlotte?” he asked, pointing to her light blue face mask featuring a silhouette of a woman wearing a bonnet.

“Jane Austen,” she replied. “She was from Hampshire, like me.”

“Right,” Sidney nodded, thinking furiously. The name rang a bell somewhere.

Charlotte could sense his confusion but decided not to press the matter. Her father had always taught her not to judge a book by its cover and, although Sidney appeared to exist in a very different world to her own, there was something intriguing about him. He had also done her a great kindness that morning and small acts of kindness meant a lot these days. Not to mention those deep brown eyes, strong, muscular forearms and large, capable hands.

“Well thank you so much, Sidney, I must be going.”

“Come back any time. We’re open till six, every day except Sunday.”

“I will,” she smiled. “Those quiches and pies look delicious. Bye.” And with a toss of her hair, she was gone. On the corner, she bent down to give some food and a cup of tea to George, who smiled gratefully at her. Sidney stood for quite some time watching her retreat down the street towards the museum, feeling like a bit of a fool and wondering what on earth she thought of him.


	2. Unfinished business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your encouraging comments and feedback! I wasn’t sure if anyone would want to read a Covid story… like I said, there isn’t too much personal drama in it, I think the pandemic represents enough of an obstacle to our two potential lovers!  
> Quite a long chapter, sorry. Mainly me pontificating about literature and history - my family gets bored of listening to me… 😉 It’s all true, apart from the Sanditon bit.  
> I could show you hundreds of photos of this town, but I’d rather you read the descriptions. Anyway, I can’t work out how to put photos on here! You can always Google it if you're interested.

That week, Charlotte visited ‘Sweet Expectations’ every morning, buying bags of croissants and cups of tea for the men and women she passed on her way to the museum. Sidney always slipped in an extra croissant for her to have with her coffee, although she scolded him, laughing that she would have put on several extra pounds by the time she left Cloisterham. “Don’t be daft,” he told her, snatching furtive glances at her figure, or what he could glimpse of it under her coat, thinking she had just the right amount of curves, just right for him anyway. It had been a long, long lockdown since March and a long, long time since Sidney had held a woman in his arms. Although he regularly visited his family, he didn’t even get to hug Mary these days, and he rarely saw Diana, let alone get within two metres of her, as she was continually rushed off her feet. Luckily, when it was his turn for kindergarten duty, he was the recipient of frequent cuddles from his three nieces and two nephews. It was the highlight of his week.

But this lovely new customer was the highlight of his day, although he was becoming increasingly tongue-tied and flustered around her and increasingly irritated with himself. Where was the Sidney Parker who could charm the ladies in the bars of Chamonix? The Sidney Parker who gathered hordes of admirers around the campfires in the Andes? Back here now in his hometown, he felt like a schoolboy again, with an agonising crush on the cutest girl in the school. The last year had knocked so much confidence out of him and, to his annoyance, he was a little intimidated by Charlotte and her obviously fierce intelligence. But she always had a friendly word and a smile for him, or at least she seemed to be smiling, underneath her Jane Austen mask. Embarrassed at his ignorance, he’d quickly Googled Jane Austen and made a point of quizzing Arthur, who was occasionally to be found reading books during idle moments in the kitchen.

“Jane Austen, that’s Pride and Prejudice, isn’t it, Arthur? The one with the guy in the wet shirt in the lake?”

“That’s it, Sid,” grinned Arthur, “well done. Not sure that scene was in the book though.”

“Have you read much Dickens?”

Arthur shook his head. “Not really, seen Oliver Twist a few times.” Arthur suddenly launched into a rendition of ‘Consider Yourself’, twirling round the kitchen as he sang in a deep tenor mockney accent.

_“Consider yourself at ‘ome, Consider yourself one of the family…”_

“Shut up, Arthur,” laughed his brother. “I don’t suppose you know who Sydney Carton is?”

“No idea. Sounds like a footballer. What’s all this in aid of? Anything to do with that lovely woman who buys croissants every morning?”

“Maybe,” admitted Sidney. “She’s doing a PhD on unfinished novels, apparently. A PhD! She’s helping the museum with some research into Dickens for the 150th anniversary celebrations, which were postponed of course.” He sighed as he stacked the shelves. “I didn’t like to mention my third class geography degree. Not very impressive.”

Arthur laughed. “Still better than mine. But Sid, you’ve done loads of impressive stuff. Have you told her anything about that?”

He shook his head. “What’s the point? She wouldn’t be interested.”

Later that day, however, a couple of hours before closing time, Charlotte appeared in the doorway, wearing her mask and carrying a large bag under her arm. Sidney was preparing a coffee for another customer and didn’t see her immediately.

“Hi,” he said, turning round and spotting her, blushing furiously and wishing he wasn’t. “Not your usual time of day.”

To his surprise, Charlotte seemed rather timid too. “Um... I was wondering if I could sit down and have something to eat, while I do some work. You see, I’m staying in a bedsit just along the High Street, it’s a bit dingy really and, well, it gets boring sitting there night after night on my own with only the TV for company.” Her big brown eyes looked up at him shyly.

“Of course,” replied Sidney, secretly thrilled. “Stay as long as you like.” All day if you want, he thought, as he ushered her over to one of the tables in the corner. Charlotte unbuttoned her coat and draped it over the back of the chair, then turned to face him as he handed her the menu. Sidney was entranced. She was wearing a knee-length skirt patterned with white and yellow daisies on a dark background, teamed with knee-high black leather boots and a light grey polo neck sweater that fit snugly around her rather ample bosom. Sidney attempted to keep his focus on the street outside as he waited for her to decide.

Charlotte ordered a spinach and red pepper quiche, a goat’s cheese salad and a cup of tea and Sidney brought it over to her on a tray. He held out the tray to her as she removed the dishes from it, catching a glimpse of her black stockinged knee, peeping out between the hem of her skirt and the top of her boots. She placed her laptop on the table, took off her mask to eat and, rather self-consciously, popped on a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. Sidney was busy behind the counter for quite some time, but his gaze kept drifting over towards her, watching her forehead wrinkling in concentration, fork in one hand, as from time to time she absentmindedly tucked her curls behind her ear or pushed her glasses up her nose with the other. Not wanting to disturb her, he kept his distance until she had finished her food and then approached the table discreetly to clear the plates. By that time, no other customers were left and Arthur had already finished up in the kitchen and gone home. It was dark outside but the gaudy, multi-coloured Christmas lights lent a little cheer to the deserted High Street.

“Sorry,” Sidney said, as the edge of the tray brushed against her laptop.

“It’s fine.” She looked up, giving him a dazzling smile and wishing, not for the first time, that she could see his whole face. She still had no idea what his nose, his mouth or his cheeks looked like, although she had the impression that his jawline was rather chiselled. All she could see were his dark eyes, his bushy eyebrows and his long neck with its prominent Adam’s apple. She watched as his back turned, noticing with a blush how good his bum looked in a pair of jeans. He was slim, but clearly muscular, and perfectly proportioned. It had been a long, lonely lockdown for Charlotte too.

Sensing her eyes on him, he placed the tray on the counter and turned round to chat to her. He’d been checking Google again that afternoon. “I um... I looked up Sydney Carton,” he said with an embarrassed laugh. “He didn’t come to a very good end, did he?”

“No,” she laughed back, “Sorry. Death by guillotine.” She drew her finger across her throat. “A very noble sacrifice, however*.”

“Thanks,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he folded his arms in front of his chest. Charlotte caught her breath, observing once more the way the sinews stood out on his forearms, which were covered in dark hairs. “So what’s the novel Dickens was writing when he died? Was he literally writing it and then just dropped down dead?”

“Not literally,” she smiled. “Although apparently he was writing it in the morning, at his house near here, then suddenly had a stroke in the afternoon, and that was that.” She looked rather sad. “He was only 58, but I suppose that was fairly normal back then. It’s called _The Mystery of Edwin Drood_ and it’s set here in Cloisterham*, you see. Actually, it’s a really dark tale about a cathedral choirmaster who’s an opium smoker, a drug addict basically.” Her eyes lit up with a childish enthusiasm that Sidney found rather endearing. “He and his nephew, Edwin, are both in love with the same woman and then Edwin disappears under mysterious circumstances, but of course nobody knows what happened next. Lots of people have tried to finish it over the years, but...”

Sidney let out a sarcastic laugh. “Drugs, crooked clergymen and love triangles. Doesn’t sound like much has changed really.”

“Yes, you could say that,” she laughed back.

“I never knew Dickens wrote about such dark subjects,” he mused. He was leaning against the counter as he spoke, his hip jutting out slightly against the crisp white apron he always wore. The effect was rather disconcerting.

“Oh yes, his stories are full of intrigue. They’re a bit wordy, but they used to be serialised in a magazine, you see, so people had to wait a week for the next instalment. He was the master of the cliffhanger ending. Oh sorry,” she blushed, “I’m inclined to talk too much when I get on my favourite topic. I must be boring you.”

“Absolutely not,” he replied, with sincerity, thinking that he could watch her soft lips moving and listen to those dusky tones all day long. “So how did you get interested in all this, Charlotte?”

“Well, I was studying English at Southampton University, and then I was living in Winchester for a while. I’ve always loved Jane Austen of course, but she died in Winchester and is buried there, so I did some research into the novel she was writing not long before she died, _Sanditon._ The heroine of the novel is called Charlotte, so of course that caught my imagination. But Jane was very ill and only a few chapters have been found of the manuscript, so no one has a clue who the hero would have been*.” She sighed. “Anyway, that got me interested in other novelists’ unfinished works – there are quite a few of them, Gaskell, Wollstonecraft, even Nabokov – but Dickens and Austen are the most famous ones.”

“I’m not much of a reader, I’m afraid,” began Sidney, “I’m more of a...” But just then the front door opened and another customer came in, wanting some takeaway lasagnes to heat up for his family’s dinner. By the time Sidney had finished dealing with him, Charlotte was packing up her laptop.

“Oh, are you going already?” he asked, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“Well, it’s after six,” she smiled, wriggling into her long coat and covering up that curvy figure, which to him now represented the perfect female form. “I don’t want to keep you. You must want to get home.”

“It’s not as if I have far to go,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “I only live upstairs. Above the shop.”

“Oh,” she said in a surprised tone, for some reason very curious to know whether or not he lived on his own. Surely not, but she could hardly ask him. “Well, I’d better be going. Um... can I do this again? Sit here for a while and work?”

“Of course, we’re never that busy this time of day. And,” he continued, swallowing a little nervously, “it’s nice to have a chat.”

“Yes, it is,” she said softly, as their eyes locked for a second. “Good night then.”

“Good night. Charlotte.”

After she’d left, Sidney cleared up, repeating her name to himself as he did so. Charlotte. He loved the sound it made as his tongue clicked against his teeth, the soft consonants rolling around his mouth. Then he made his way upstairs for yet another night with nowhere to go and no one to talk to, although this time, instead of zapping channels or scrolling through Facebook, he spent several hours reading about Dickens, Austen and other novelists on the Internet, before he fell asleep, exhausted, on the sofa.

*******************************

The next afternoon, Friday, Charlotte left the museum at around 4pm and made her way along the High Street to ‘Sweet Expectations’, experiencing a nervous fluttering in her stomach that she hadn’t felt for quite some time. The work was going well but she didn’t need to be at the museum all day; most of the meetings with the staff were held remotely anyway, but it was great to have access to their extensive library. She’d never managed to visit this part of the country before and it was amazing how many sites in and around the town were connected with Dickens and his novels: the Bull Inn from _Pickwick Papers_ , Miss Havisham’s house from _Great Expectations_ , and of course Mr Tope’s house and the girls’ school run by Miss Twinkleton in _Edwin Drood_ , to name just a few. She was hoping to get some time at the weekend to visit some of the other sites in the local area, such as the graveyard where Pip was ambushed by the convict Magwitch, or to glimpse the outside of Dickens’ house at Gads Hill* and the Falstaff pub, but of course pubs were not properly open at the moment, and it was difficult to get out and about without a car. She was eager to explore the inside of the cathedral, almost a character in its own right in _Edwin Drood_ , but it was closed to visitors at the moment, as it was being used as an Asymptomatic Testing Centre. She’d toyed with the idea of booking herself a test just to get inside, but given that tests were only being offered to those who really needed them, decided that would be a thoroughly selfish course of action. Perhaps she would have to content herself with a walk along the river instead, and maybe she’d find an excuse to visit ‘Sweet Expectations’ on Saturday.

For now, at least, she was looking forward to some delicious food and the prospect of another conversation with Sidney Parker. But when she pushed open the door of the shop, there was no sign of him. Behind the counter was his younger brother, who turned round to greet her. Charlotte gasped. Today, his face resembled a vampire, blood dripping from his fangs.

“Sorry,” he said, “it’s a bit weird this one, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s funny,” she giggled, wondering why Sidney never wore these silly masks and kind of glad that he didn’t.

“Yes, well it keeps people amused. Got to laugh, haven’t you?” He rubbed his hands together. “What can I get you... Charlotte, isn’t it?”

Charlotte ordered her food and then went to sit down at a table, feeling a sharp pang of disappointment. Perhaps he had just popped out for a moment, she reasoned, chiding herself for feeling his absence quite so keenly, and rather alarmed at the strength of her feelings.

Arthur brought her food and drink over on a tray. “I suppose you’re wondering where Sidney is, aren’t you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, just as bushy as Sidney’s but sandier in colour.

Charlotte had already removed her mask and could feel herself reddening to the tips of her toes. “Um, no... I just came for something to eat,” she floundered, but even she could hear how unconvincing she sounded.

Arthur let out a low chuckle, then stood some distance away, leaning back against the counter. He pulled his mask down to his chin. “You don’t mind, do you? I can’t stand these bloody things. Sidney’s always telling me off.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t mind.”

“I’ll tell you anyway,” Arthur beamed. He had a very open, friendly face but his eyes were green, nothing like Sidney’s. “He’s on kindergarten duty today, that’s why.”

Charlotte felt a knot forming in her stomach. “Kindergarten?”

“Yes, looking after the kids.”

“Oh, I see.” She averted her eyes to her laptop. “I didn’t know he had children.” Damn. Not only was he with someone – why was she even surprised, he was most definitely a catch – he had a family as well.

Arthur was regarding her curiously. “They’re not his kids, silly. Sidney doesn’t have any children. Or a wife. Or anything for that matter.”

Charlotte slowly lifted her head to meet his eyes, which were twinkling mischievously at her. “We call it that because it’s like a bloody kindergarten. I’ll explain. We have an older brother, Tom, and an older sister, Diana. Between them they have five children, all under eleven.”

“Oh yes,” Charlotte nodded, “Sidney said that Tom owns the café.”

“Yes. Well, we’re partners actually,” corrected Arthur. “Me and Tom, that is. Sidney doesn’t have any interest in it. We also own a restaurant further along, Copperfield’s, but it’s closed at the moment.”

“So why...?”

Arthur sighed, placing his hands on his hips. “He really hasn’t told you anything about himself, has he?”

Charlotte pondered. “Come to think of it, no, not a lot.”

“He can be very shy and secretive. I’m not though,” laughed Arthur. “You can ask me anything you like.” But before Charlotte could think of a question, Arthur continued chatting merrily. “Diana and her husband Maximillian – he’s German – they’re both doctors at the hospital, so as you can imagine they haven’t had any time to themselves this year. Sometimes they can’t even see their kids – or each other – for days at a time, they have to get tested and isolate, and so on. All very stressful. So their children are often at Tom’s. But you see Tom and his wife caught Covid last spring and they were both very ill for a while. They’re still not completely better to be honest. And Tom’s paranoid about working in the café now, which is why Sid’s so strict about hygiene.” He sighed, a look of worry passing over his face. “And then there’s our mum and dad who live nearby, they’re in their seventies... So Sid came down to help, back in April. And he’s been here ever since.”

“Goodness,” said Charlotte, “what a difficult time for you all.”

“You can say that again,” agreed Arthur, popping his face mask back up and going behind the counter to deal with a customer. Charlotte tried to focus on the document open on her laptop but singularly failed to concentrate, and turned to Arthur again once the customer had departed.

“Um... Arthur, you said Sidney came down to help. What did you mean? Down from where?”

“From London,” replied Arthur, surprised. “Has he not even told you that?” She shook her head. “He has a flat there, or he did anyway. Although he was hardly ever there, he’s always travelling.” He chuckled, noticing the look of surprise on her face. “He runs his own company, Charlotte. Adventure travel, taking people on trips all over the world. Although of course, there’s not much call for it at the moment. Normally he’d be out in the Alps skiing this time of year, but his real passion is climbing mountains, he’s done them all. Well, a lot of them anyway. Not Everest. Not yet.”

“He’s a mountain climber?” She was utterly astounded. And yet, that would account for the strong, muscular arms, the fit body and the toned legs she could now vividly imagine under his jeans.

“Yep. He’s definitely the adventurous one in the family.”

“He never said a word,” she said quietly, now a little ashamed of the assumptions she had made about him. Thinking he was a smalltown boy who had worked in a café all his life.

“Well,” frowned Arthur, “he’s had a difficult year, with one thing and another. But I think I’ve probably told you enough,” he said mysteriously. He leaned over the counter, his own forearms not nearly as toned as his brother’s. He obviously enjoyed eating his delicious food as much as he enjoyed making it. “I can tell you one thing though, Charlotte,” he winked, “you’re his favourite customer.” Suddenly, Arthur looked up towards the front door. “Ah, and here’s my favourite customer,” he said quietly, winking again, as a tall, rather hunky young man in dusty builder’s overalls and a yellow hi-vis jacket came through the door.

“Mr Robinson!” boomed Arthur, “what can I do you for?”

“Mr Parker!” grinned the man. “Whoops sorry, forgot my mask.”

“Never mind that,” said Arthur. “You look much better without it.”

*****************************

As it turned out, Charlotte had a busy weekend. Her colleague from the museum, Susan Finch, offered to take her on a walking tour of Cloisterham on the Saturday, to see all the Dickens sites and the outside of the cathedral, the second oldest in England, as well as the imposing Norman keep of the castle that sat opposite, on the higher ground, surrounded by a dry moat where children were playing. It was a cold but bright, sunny day and Charlotte was fascinated by everything Susan showed her. They stopped for lunch at Mr Tope’s café near the cathedral precinct, sitting on a table outside near the cobbled street, some distance apart. By the time they had finished their tour it was nearly 5pm and Charlotte was worn out by the fresh air and sunshine. Making her way back along the High Street to her bedsit, she passed ‘Sweet Expectations’ and spotted Sidney through the window, but he was still very busy serving customers. Some of the non-essential shops were permitted to open at weekends in the run-up to Christmas, so the High Street was busier than usual. A little disappointed, she returned to her room to heat up some soup and do some more work, although she didn’t manage much and was asleep before ten.

Sunday was another bright, sunny day and, after spending an hour or so on the phone to her parents back in Hampshire, Charlotte took a walk along the river. It wasn’t the prettiest of rivers, but it was certainly quite majestic; wide, fast-flowing, and tidal all the way to the sea, where it met the Thames. She could almost imagine the creaking prison hulks that had once been moored further up the estuary. The muddy shoreline was scattered with foul-smelling seaweed and all kinds of water birds were poking about in the sludge. A gangly heron was stalking on its long legs, searching for fish and a large, black cormorant was perched on the rim of a boat, its wings spread out like a sinister pterodactyl. On the other side of the river, a clutch of sailing boats were moored, along with a smattering of houseboats. As she got nearer the bridge, she spotted a collection of brightly coloured tents, pitched rather haphazardly under its arches. At least they were a little sheltered from the wind here, but even so, it was December and it was cold enough in the daytime. It must be freezing at night. One of the men she’d chatted to had told her that there was a charity called ‘Street Angels’ that supplied them with tents, sleeping bags, food and came round regularly to check on them. That reassured her a little, but even so, she still liked to bring them tea and pastries, slip a pound coin into their hands and have a quick chat every morning. Fortunately, the vile young men who had criticised her for being a do-gooder had not made a reappearance.

Early on Monday morning, she made her usual call to ‘Sweet Expectations’. No other customers were in the shop and her heart leapt as she spotted Sidney behind the counter, busy as usual. He looked up as she came in and, if she could have torn away his mask, she would have seen a wide smile of relief. It was mirrored by the equally wide smile on her own face, which again, no one could see.

“Hello you,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d gone home already.”

“Oh no,” she replied. “I’m not due to leave till this Friday, the 17th.. I was busy on Saturday with a colleague.” She explained what they had been doing.

“Same as usual, then?” he asked, turning towards the hot drinks machine. “How many teas today?”

“Three, please. And a latte for me.”

“Of course. Who do you give the teas to, by the way?”

“One for George, of course, another for Sally who sits by the library, and the third one for Eddie. He’s usually outside the museum.”

“Oh right. Eddie.”

“Yeah, he’s a strange one,” she continued, pondering. “Quite well spoken really. And not that old. The others joke with him and call him Sir Edward.”

Sidney placed one cardboard cup of tea on the counter. “That’s because he is.”

“Pardon?”

“Sir Edward Darnley*. He’s minor aristocracy or something. His family used to own half the land round here, but they sold it off years ago. I was at school with him.”

“You’re joking!”

Sidney shook his head. “Nope.”

“No, really, you must be. He looks at least ten years older than you. Not that I know how old you are or even what you look like really,” she floundered, blushing again.

“Well,” said Sidney, a little tersely, “that’s what drugs does to people, isn’t it? And I’m 30, by the way, same as Edward.”

“Christ.” Charlotte was silent for a moment. “I’ve been trying to talk to him about going to a hostel, you know. Do you think perhaps... well, if you know him, as you say, would you be able to come and talk to him too? Help me persuade him? He lives in one of the tents by the river, but I don’t really want to go down there on my own.”

Sidney placed the third cup of tea on the counter. He shook his head. “Sorry, but I have absolutely no interest in talking to him. We were never friends.”

Charlotte was flummoxed. “How can you say that?” Her voice rose a little. “Just because you didn’t get on at school... I mean, the guy’s in a desperate situation. Have some compassion, at least.”

Sidney’s body tensed. Instead of replying, he turned to the coffee machine and, rather violently, attached the portafilter to the group head, then placed the milk jug under the steam wand, switching the nozzle to full to ensure that any further attempt at conversation was prevented by the noise of the steam. He finished making the latte in silence, then placed it in the cardboard cup holder along with the three cups of tea and the bag of pastries and held the card terminal out for her to pay.

Charlotte was frowning at him. “What is it? Why don’t you like him?”

Sidney sighed heavily. “I don’t want to talk about it. Sorry. But please refrain from making assumptions about me.”

Charlotte folded her arms. “What’s wrong with you, Sidney? Why are you so bloody secretive?”

Leaning his hands against the counter, he looked down at the floor. “Sorry, but I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“It’s not just that,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me about your travel company? About your brother and his wife getting Covid? About the fact that you’re a mountain climber? Here’s me thinking you’re a guy who works in a coffee shop and you’re bloody Sherpa Tenzing or something.”

Sidney looked up and laughed. “Hardly. I see Arthur’s been gossiping again. I don’t know... I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“Well,” she said quietly. “I am interested.” Their eyes met. “I’ve got to go,” she said awkwardly, looking out of the window. More customers were approaching the front door. “Maybe I’ll come by later this afternoon. But only if you want me to.”

He drew himself up to his full stature. “Yes. I would like you to. Look, I’m sorry Charlotte, I...”

“It’s okay. See you later.” And she swept out of the door.

Sidney served the waiting customers and then went out the back of the shop for a moment, leaning against the wall of the yard, next to the bins. If he’d been a smoker, he’d have had a cigarette, but he’d given that up many years since. Tears pricked his eyes as all the memories flooded back. Her beautiful long blonde hair, her bright blue eyes, her almost translucent skin, her fragile soul. It was a memory from a long, long time ago, but it still had the power to hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. It’s not Eliza.  
> * Sydney Carton is a rather miserable although very intelligent character in ‘A Tale of Two Cities’, who ends up being guillotined in France, to save the woman he loves and her husband. His most famous quote is uttered just before he goes to his death: “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”  
> * This is obviously not true as Austen wrote 12 chapters of Sanditon before she died, but for the purposes of my story, there is no Sidney Parker in the manuscript! Maybe Charlotte will discover the rest some day…  
> * Cloisterham is the name used by Dickens in the ‘Mystery of Edwin Drood’, the novel he was halfway through writing when he died in 1870. It is indeed a rather dark tale and there have been lots of continuations of it. Fan fiction and cliffhanger endings are by no means a new thing!  
> * Elizabeth Gaskell was writing ‘Wives and Daughters’ when she rather suddenly passed away in 1865 (aged 55). It was being serialised in the Cornhill magazine but it was very nearly at the end, so her friend Frederick Greenwood finished it off. Andrew Davies did a brilliant adaptation of it in 1999 and gave it a happy ending.  
> * The Darnleys used to own a lot of land in the area. Dickens was friendly with Lord Darnley and took regular walks in the woods on the estate, but as far as I know there was never one called Edward and none of them are drug addicts! Dickens’ house at Gads Hill is now a private school but his study – the headteacher’s study – has been preserved as it was.


	3. A dinner date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... I thought this chapter was quite cute, and it is in parts, but having read it back again, there are some sad bits. Just warning you! Some references to drug addiction and overdose.  
> However, the mask comes off... literally and figuratively.

Charlotte dropped by later that afternoon, but the shop was continually busy with people stocking up on essentials or ordering takeaways, and Sidney hardly had a chance to speak to her. At 5.45, she packed up her laptop and left, giving him a shy smile and a wave. His head was in a whirl of emotion. He knew he was hugely attracted to her and more than a little intrigued by her, and he had an inkling that she liked him too, but realistically, the whole situation was ridiculous. She was going home at the end of that week, he would probably never see her again, he didn’t even know whether she had a boyfriend or not – how could she not, a woman as gorgeous as her – and of course, there happened to be a global pandemic going on so, in theory, he couldn’t even get within two metres of her. Not to mention the fact that case numbers were rising and the news outlets were hinting that further restrictions would be introduced over Christmas, possibly until the spring. And yet, wouldn’t it be nice just to sit down and have a chat with her, get to know her a little better? They could be friends at least, they could swap phone numbers, who knew where it might lead?

On Tuesday, Sidney was on kindergarten duty again, but he was oddly distracted and Mary, his ever-intuitive sister-in-law, noticed something was up and quizzed him about it. He shyly confessed to her about the pretty, beguiling stranger who, quite out of the blue, had bewitched him body and soul, and how conflicted he was about taking it further. Mary smiled tenderly at him, leaning back in her armchair, her small son balanced on her lap. She was tired and weary and dying for a nap, but she always had time for Sidney; they really couldn’t have survived this past year without him. Although Tom had recovered from the disease much more quickly than her, despite his time in hospital, psychologically it had scarred him and he avoided the café as much as he could, preferring to stay in his home office to focus on the administrative side of the business.

“What harm will it do, to have a chat with her, Sidney? After all, you could just be friends. We all need a friend, don’t we? Especially now. And you do seem a bit lonely.”

“I am,” he admitted. “There’s a bit of an issue though. She takes food to the rough sleepers in the High Street and she keeps going on about Edward Darnley. She wants to get him into a hostel. I mentioned that I knew him at school and now she wants me to help.”

“Ah, I see. And you don’t want to tell her? About Clara.”

He shook his head. “No. Not a very cheerful topic of conversation, is it?” He sighed. “I hadn’t really thought about her for years, but now I can’t stop thinking about her. I even dreamt about her last night.”

Mary stroked her son’s thatch of blond hair. “She sounds like a very caring person. You should tell her. At least then she’ll understand. Why don’t you invite her to stay after hours? Have a meal together. At separate tables, obviously.”

“Like a date?” He grinned.

“Why not? Get Arthur to make something special.”

Sidney relaxed back against the sofa, an excited smile on his face. “Sounds good to me. Come here, Henry,” he called to his nephew. “Let Mummy go and have a lie-down.”

******************

On Wednesday morning, Charlotte popped into the café to buy her usual morning fare. She seemed a little subdued, Sidney thought.

“Everything alright, Charlotte?” he asked.

“Yes, yes,” she nodded, a little too eagerly perhaps. “Just got a lot to finish before Friday.”

“Friday is your last day at the museum or you’re leaving on Friday?”

“I’m leaving on Friday.”

Nodding mutely, Sidney turned his back on her to make her latte. Now or never. The thought of not seeing her face every morning, not spending the day eagerly anticipating her reappearance in the afternoon, was too much to bear. Somehow, the days would be even emptier and lonelier than before.

He placed her coffee on the counter along with the other drinks but instead of passing her the cup holder, he held onto it like an anchor. “Charlotte...” he began. She looked up into his eyes. “I know you said you’re busy, but um... are you free tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. After closing. Look, this might sound ridiculous but... I thought we could have more of a chat. Sit down and eat together maybe.”

“Here? Just the two of us?”

He nodded. “Yes. At separate tables, of course. Look, it doesn’t matter, forget I said anything...” Letting go of her cup, he stood back, embarrassed.

But Charlotte interrupted. “Don’t be silly, I’d love to, Sidney.” Her eyes were sparkling brightly.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Especially if Arthur’s cooking.” She giggled.

“I’ll get him to make something special. What would you like?” Sidney’s eyes were now the ones sparkling.

“I don’t mind, anything you like. Tortilla maybe?”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do. See you about six, then?”

“I’ll look forward to it. Bye.” And Charlotte trotted off down the High Street with a spring in her step.

Sidney was rushed off his feet all day, only just about managing to get everything finished and cleared up by six o’clock. Charlotte appeared at six on the dot, cheeks rosy with the cold, wearing more make-up than he’d seen on her previously, although her dusky eyeshadow was quite subtle, enhancing her natural beauty. She went over to the table in the corner and removed her coat, hanging it on the back of her chair. How Sidney wished he could have helped her remove it and hang it up, as he would have done in normal times. To his surprise and delight, she was wearing a silvery sweater dress in a thinner fabric than usual, and it was V-neck rather than her usual all-covering polo neck, giving him more than a glimpse of the bare skin on her neck, her collarbone and her rather impressive cleavage.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, blushing charmingly, “I thought I’d dress up a little, I’ve been wearing the same clothes for weeks you see, and well, I didn’t really bring anything that posh with me to Cloisterham, but I found this dress, although it’s a bit thin really, it’s freezing out there you know, my feet are like blocks of ice...” Oh for goodness sake, Charlotte, she thought, will you stop rabbiting on like a prize idiot.

But Sidney wasn’t really listening, as he couldn’t peel his eyes away from her. She was right about the thinner fabric too; her feet weren’t her only extremities which had gone a little hard and icy. He, by contrast, was now feeling quite the opposite of icy, rather too warm in fact. “Charlotte,” he laughed shyly, “I don’t mind at all. You look... lovely.” Understatement of the year perhaps, but to express what he was actually feeling at that precise moment and the effect she was having on his affection-starved body might have alarmed her a little.

“Thank you,” she said simply, and sat down at the table, removing her mask as she did so and smiling up at him. Her lips were painted a deep red and Sidney had an overwhelming urge to stride across the gap dividing them, clasp her head in his hands and kiss those lips until all the lipstick had faded to a mere trace, until their mouths were numb from passion. But he couldn’t.

“Sorry,” he said, untying his apron, “I’m not dressed up at all. We’ve been so busy today. I’ll just go out the back and freshen up. Do you want something to drink?”

“Just some water, thanks.”

A little while later, Sidney emerged from the kitchen along with Arthur, who was carrying their tortillas, salad and various other tapas on a large tray. He set down the food on the two tables, which were facing each other at opposite ends of the long window, while Sidney tended to their drinks. Arthur turned down the lights a little and lit the tea candles on their tables, then shrugged on his coat, removed his duck mask and made a move to leave.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to enjoy yourselves,” he grinned. “I’ve got my own date. Wish me luck.”

Sidney put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Just be careful, Arthur, okay?”

“Of course,” replied Arthur, “I’m always careful. Toodle pip!”

Sidney locked the door behind Arthur, turned the CLOSED sign around then, leaning his back against the door, glanced across at Charlotte, suddenly feeling excruciatingly nervous.

“Aren’t you going to sit down and eat?” she laughed, admiring his simple dark jeans and cosy black sweater, which showed off his trim figure to perfection.

“Sure.” The sound of his chair scraping against the wooden floor was the only noise cutting into the awkward silence between them.

How Charlotte wished she could just go over to him, sit on his lap, put her arms around him and tell him how delighted she was to be here, that she’d thought about nothing else all day, that the talking could wait, they could just hold each other and revel in the nearness of each other’s warm bodies, knowing that they both felt the same way, that nothing else mattered. But words would have to be spoken instead.

“Sidney,” she giggled, “aren’t you going to take your mask off to eat?”

“Oh yes, of course,” he laughed and finally, the mask slipped. He raised his eyes to meet Charlotte’s and, for the first time, she took in his proud, straight nose, his chiselled jawline, more stubbly than she had expected, and one of the most perfect pairs of lips she had ever seen, now breaking into a shy smile, directed solely at her. For a moment she was speechless, almost tearful. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

“What’s up?” he asked. “Not too much of an ogre, am I?”

“An ogre? Hardly. Quite the opposite.” Her voice had taken on a soft, purry tone and Sidney turned to meet her appraising gaze. She blushed at the intensity of his stare. “You don’t look that much like your brother, you know.”

“No. I look even less like Tom,” he smiled. “My dad always jokes that my mum had an affair with the milkman.”

“Must have been a very good-looking milkman,” muttered Charlotte, but he caught what she said and let out an incredibly sexy, throaty chuckle, which reverberated across the room, its vibrations causing her legs to tingle in a not altogether unpleasant way.

“Well thank you,” he grinned. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

“It was intended to be,” she flirted back, “although I’m sure I’m not the first woman to tell you that.”

“Perhaps not,” he conceded, “but the first one for a while. Quite some time, in fact.” He held her gaze. “So, while we’re dishing out compliments, may I tell you that you are quite the loveliest woman of my acquaintance. Quite the loveliest. You have a very fine pair of eyes.”

Charlotte laughed. “You sound like you’re channelling Mr Darcy.”

“It was on the telly on Sunday,” he admitted. “I spent most of the day watching it.”

“Are you trying to impress me?” she smiled. “Because you don’t need to, you know. I like you just as you are.”

“I like you too. Charlotte.” For a moment, neither spoke, unable to take their eyes off each other. “Come on, let’s eat,” he said. “Tell me some more about yourself.”

Tucking into her tortilla, she shook her head. “You know lots about me. All I know about you is what Arthur told me. So come on, tell me all about the mountains you’ve climbed, all the places you’ve been to.”

As they ate, Sidney briefly told her about his less than impressive Geography degree and how, unable to decide on a career and itching to see the world, he’d headed off to the French Alps to work in a hotel during the skiing season and rapidly developed a deep, enduring love for the mountains, moving on from skiing to hiking and climbing, which became his fervent passion. He spent the next few years travelling all over the world, conquering every peak he could – from Mont Blanc to Kilimanjaro, the Himalayas and as far as the Peruvian Andes, regaling her with tales of his incredible exploits and near-death experiences.

"Not Everest though?"

"Nah," he shook his head. "Too crowded these days, the place is covered in litter. I just love the feeling you get up there though, on top of the world with nothing around you except the clouds, the sky, just a couple of eagles or vultures soaring over your head. Nothing else matters, all this – he indicated the café, the street, the town – is totally insignificant, you are insignificant.”

“Hmm,” mused Charlotte, “I feel a bit like that when I’m reading books. Possibly. How did you fund all this travel?”

“Oh, we worked our way round the world – taking jobs in hotels, as ski instructors and then as mountain guides. So it seemed logical for us to set up our own adventure company,” he said, taking a swig of water. “Provide experiences for people, that kind of thing.”

“Us?”

“Oh yeah. I mean Liz. We met in Peru one summer and... well, we were together for about five years. She’s a real daredevil. Crazier than me actually.”

“Oh I see,” said Charlotte, looking down at her nearly finished tortilla. “This is delicious by the way.”

“We split up about a year ago, Charlotte,” he said softly, noticing her frown. “We’re still kind of friends, but to be honest, the only thing we had in common was the adventure stuff. Half the time we were on different continents anyway. Last winter she phoned me from the Alps – I was actually in Australia at the time, doing some scuba diving, we were thinking of adding that to our portfolio – and she told me she’d met someone else, a ski instructor called Julien. French guy.”

“Were you upset?” asked Charlotte, gazing up at him through the dim candlelight.

“For about ten minutes,” he grinned. “It had been on the cards for a while. However,” he leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs, hands crossed on his stomach, “when the pandemic started, she came back to England – we had a flat in London, although we were hardly ever there – as she wanted to be near her family. So ironically, we ended up in lockdown together. That’s a bundle of fun, I can tell you, spending lockdown with your ex. Anyway, as you know, I came down here in April. It was an emergency of course – Tom was on a ventilator in hospital – but I was glad to get away.”

“So where’s Liz now?”

“Oh, she went back to the Alps as soon as the restrictions lifted in the summer. Not that anyone’s doing much skiing. She’s got some sort of job anyway, enough to stop her being kicked out of the country after we leave the EU. I’ve bought her out of the company too, although it’s not really doing much business at the moment.” He grimaced. “I need to sort that out really.”

Charlotte was silent for a while, tracing patterns on the tablecloth with her finger. Then she spoke. “I split up with my boyfriend during lockdown as well. James.” Sidney let out a barely audible sigh of relief.

“He’s an academic, like me, well he’s a lot more intellectual than me, really. His field is Renaissance poets like Milton, John Donne, William Blake, people like that. He used to laugh at me for liking women’s literature, as he called it.”

Sidney’s eyes widened. “How ridiculous.”

“Isn’t it? Anyway, when the first lockdown was announced, he asked me to move in with him for the duration, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to see each other. And I kind of realised I couldn’t think of anything worse.” She giggled. “Terrible of me, wasn’t it?”

“Well, seems like it might have been the best decision,” smiled Sidney.

“Yes, I think he would have driven me mad. He was quite possessive actually. He didn’t like me going out too much, and he certainly didn’t like me talking to other men. I once... oh never mind...”

“Go on.”

“I went out with one of my fellow students, a man, to some poetry reading or other one night. I mean, it was purely platonic, we both knew that. But James went berserk. Anyway, I left Winchester last spring and went home to Wivelrod.”

“Where on earth is that?”

“It’s a little village in Hampshire, not far from Jane Austen's house in Chawton, actually. My parents have a farm there.”

“So you’re a farmer’s daughter... who reads books.”

She looked up, smiling. “Yes. But I can also milk cows, shear sheep, load a gun and skin a rabbit.”

“Not just a pretty face then,” he smiled back. Suddenly he stood up and approached her table. Charlotte looked up hesitantly, but Sidney stopped about a metre away. “Sorry,” he whispered, “I just wanted to be a little closer to you. I wish... I wish...”

“I know,” she said quietly. “Maybe one day.”

“Dessert?” he asked, with a resigned sigh and disappeared to the kitchen to find some ice cream. As they ate their dessert, Charlotte told him about her family, and how, last March, she and her five brothers and sisters had all ended up sharing rooms at the farmhouse.

“I’m the eldest of six, you see, and the others are either at university or still at school. So it’s a bit cramped and noisy, as you can imagine. I have to share a room with my sister. Still, it’s better than being on my own or living with James,” she giggled.

“I’m just up there on my own,” he said sadly, pointing up to the ceiling. “Though at least I get to see my family and the kids. Not sure how we’ll manage that if the restrictions tighten though. We’ll have to shut the café too.”

“Completely?”

“No, I guess we’ll set up a hatch like we did last time. Takeaways only. Tom will prefer that, to be honest, less contact.” He sighed. “We have to keep it going though, it’s Tom and Mary’s livelihood. God knows when they’ll be able to open up their restaurant again. Tom’s taken out loans but you can’t keep doing that forever.”

“What about your business, Sidney? What will you do with it?”

He shrugged. “I was thinking of scaling it down, make it UK only. Take people on trips to Scotland or the Lake District. Do stuff for young people too, Duke of Edinburgh scheme*, things like that. I think that would be good. I’m starting to think I’ve done enough globetrotting anyway. I’m getting old,” he smirked.

“Hardly. You’re only a couple of years older than me.” She paused, leaning forward a little and smiling. “I have an embarrassing confession to make. Two actually.”

“What?”

“First, I’m scared of heights.” Sidney smiled, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Secondly, I’ve hardly ever been abroad. Only to France once or twice. And a week in Spain.” She pondered. “Oh, I went to Wales once.”

He laughed. “That doesn’t count, Charlotte.”

“Well you see,” she raised her hands in the air. “I’m a country bumpkin. We never went on holiday as a child, we just ran around the farm all summer. And then I guess I’ve been too busy reading books.”

“And I haven’t read enough,” he countered.

“We don’t really have that much in common, do we?” she said quietly, laying down her spoon.

Sidney sat back in his chair, regarding her with affection. “Do you think that really matters? We both went out with people who shared our interests and it didn’t exactly work, did it?”

Charlotte’s eyes met his. “Is that what you want? To go out with me?”

“I can’t think of anything I’d like more, Charlotte,” he said softly. “But it’s not exactly good timing, is it?”

“No,” she said sadly. “I... I’m going back to my family on Friday. That’s only two days away. It wouldn’t be right to... put them at risk, especially with this new variant they keep talking about.”

“I understand. I have to consider Tom and his family too. But we can keep in touch, can’t we? Swap phone numbers?”

She nodded her head, brushing away a tear. “I’d like that.”

They both gazed out of the window at the darkened street, so quiet now that you could almost imagine the ghosts of the Dickens characters creeping along at night, bringing the stories to life. An old man shuffling along in a greatcoat, who might have been Ebenezer Scrooge. An overweight, middle-aged man with a bald head and a tattoo creeping up his neck, who might have been Bill Sikes, smoking a cigarette and walking a white bull terrier. Suddenly, an ambulance came careering past, horns blaring and blue lights flashing, shaking them both back to the present and the realisation that this evening would soon be at an end and they would have to part, without even a touch or a goodnight kiss.

“Sidney,” Charlotte said, turning to him as something jogged her memory, “Why were you so funny about Edward? Can you tell me about that?”

Sidney tensed again, staring down at the table. A few moments later, he met her concerned gaze. “Okay, I’ll tell you. I warn you, I haven’t talked about this in years. And,” he rose up from his chair, “I’m going to need a beer. You want one? We don’t sell it but I know Arthur keeps a stash in the kitchen.”

Charlotte nodded and soon enough Sidney returned with two bottles of Peroni. He opened Charlotte’s and placed it on the empty table separating them.

She leaned forward to pick up the bottle and took a swig. The cold liquid hit the back of her throat. “Mmm, that’s good. Go on then.”

“Her name was Clara.” Sidney was gripping his own bottle tightly, peeling off the label into little bits. “She was my first girlfriend, if you know what I mean. When I was 17. Puppy love, I suppose.”

“I see. What happened?”

“I dreamt about her the other night, for the first time in years. She was beautiful, Charlotte. Blonde and willowy and, well, a bit sensitive and fragile I guess. She played the piano. She was so talented, you know.” He brushed away a tear from his cheek, placing his head in his hands. “Edward took her from me, that’s all, almost like he cast a spell on her or something. He was a good musician too, actually, he played the violin. Fast and furious, like the devil himself. But, well... you can guess the rest.”

“Drugs?”

He nodded. “Usual story. They started off on a bit of weed and coke, then progressed to the heavy stuff. They went to the same university, but they only lasted a year or two and after they dropped out, they went from bad to worse. She died four years ago, from an overdose. I was in Nepal when I got the phone call. I mean, I hadn’t seen her in years but shit, it still hurt. What a waste. What a fucking tragic waste. That’s why I’m angry at Edward, for ruining her life. I'm angry he's still here and she isn't.”

Charlotte paused before she spoke. “I understand. But maybe it’s time to let go?”

He nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Put your mask on Sidney,” said Charlotte, suddenly. He looked up, surprised.

“What?”

“Just put your mask on.” He did as he was told. Covering her own face, Charlotte stood up and approached his table. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she pulled him towards her chest, where he lay his head gratefully, burying his face between her soft breasts. “Put your arms around me,” she whispered. Sidney held her tight, so tight, breathing in her warmth, her scent, her love. They remained locked in their embrace for some minutes, taking care to keep their heads apart and not to touch with their hands. Finally, reluctantly, Charlotte pulled away and headed back to her own table, where she picked up her bag and coat.

“I’d better go,” she said softly. “Thank you for this. So... will you come with me tomorrow, to speak to Edward?”

He nodded. “Yes, I will. After work. And Charlotte... thank you.”

She was unable to reply. Instead, on her way out of the door, she briefly laid a hand on his shoulder as she passed, communicating everything she wanted to say with her eyes. “Goodnight Sidney. Sleep well. See you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * If you don’t know, the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award is a scheme for young people – they do voluntary work, sport and go on camping/hiking weekends where they have to fend for themselves. There are three levels, Bronze, Silver and Gold. A bit like the Scouts but usually run by schools - of course, it’s all on hold at the moment.  
> Yes, Mary appears to have “Long Covid”. But don’t worry, she is very much loved up with Tom. And Tom is not even financially incompetent in this one (What!? I hear you say) – although as a small business owner, he has money worries, but then who doesn’t at the moment?  
> There is a village called Wivelrod in Hampshire, but I've never been there!


	4. Tent city (Thursday 16 December)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify the UK situation for those of you in other countries: in November and December, the restrictions varied in different parts of the UK (and within England). However, it’s a small country and it’s easy to travel anywhere within a day or two. Case numbers were rising sharply, especially in Kent where this story is set (it’s just below London), and the “Kent variant” was identified, which seemed to be much more contagious, although not deadlier. But schools and most shops were still open up to Christmas. People were aware that a full, stay-at-home lockdown was likely in the New Year (it’s still ongoing, although schools reopened on 8 March). Charlotte’s family’s farm is about 2 hours’ drive from where Sidney is living and neither of them own a car at the moment. So if Charlotte decides to stay with this man who she’s only known for a couple of weeks, she knows she probably wouldn’t get to see her family for some months. Sidney meanwhile has his own family obligations (as usual) and he has elderly parents in this one too (like a lot of us). So – big decision!  
> This chapter is a bit dramatic and also sad in places (sorry). But there might be a silver lining for Sidney and Charlotte…

On her last full day at the museum, Charlotte popped into ‘Sweet Expectations’ as usual on her way to work. As she entered the café, Sidney spun around and for some moments, they simply stood silently, on opposite sides of the counter, smiling behind their masks.

“Hello you,” he said, finally.

“Hello,” she replied shyly, her head tilted to one side. “Thank you for last night. By the way... um... it’s my birthday today.”

“No way!” Sidney laughed, that throaty, sexy chuckle again. “Why didn’t you say? I could have got you a present.”

“I don’t know... bit shy I guess. And we were… talking about other things. Really, it doesn’t matter.”

Sidney called to the kitchen. “Hey Arthur, come here!”

Arthur popped his head around the door. “I’m at a critical juncture with the béchamel sauce. What is it?”

“It’s Charlotte’s birthday today.”

“Really?” Arthur beamed. “Happy Birthday, Charlotte. I shall bake you a cake. Come back this afternoon and it’ll all be ready for you.” He disappeared.

“Happy Birthday, Charlotte,” said Sidney, turning to the coffee machine to make her latte, “How about we have another meal together tonight?”

“But we’re going to see Eddie, aren’t we? You promised.”

Sidney stopped, midway through pouring the milk, and spun round. “You want to do that on your birthday?” he asked, incredulous.

“Well yes, it’s my last day here. A birthday isn’t that important, I’ll celebrate with my family when I get home.”

Sidney was about to say something sarcastic about forgetting all about Edward and letting him rot in hell, but stopped himself just in time. “How old are you today then?”

“Twenty-eight. By the way, it’s Jane Austen’s birthday today too. She’s 245.”

“Well then,” he replied. “Double celebration. We’ll see you later.”

By the time Charlotte reached the café, it was nearly 5pm. Arthur ushered her in and sat her down at a table and Sidney brought her a dish of steaming hot lasagne. “You must be hungry,” he said. “It’s on us.”

“Are you sure? Thank you.” She smiled up at him. Today she was devoid of make-up and looked a little tired, but Sidney didn’t care. He only wished this routine could go on forever, although preferably without the face masks and the social distancing. It was bizarre to think of all the different women he’d known over the last ten years, from so many different countries – until he met Liz, he’d enjoyed quite a few romantic liaisons – and now here he was, back in his boring old hometown, thoroughly disarmed by this slip of a woman with her serious gaze and her kindly heart. Back in his small flat last night, he’d lain awake for a long time, thinking about her, wishing she was there with him – not for the obvious, surprisingly enough, but just to hold her and be held by her, to have her at his side, chat to her in the dark, fall asleep listening to her breathing. Having said that, he did wake up in the morning vividly dreaming about her breasts, and had to jump under the shower to try and tear himself away from that particular fantasy.

What he didn’t know was that Charlotte had passed a similar kind of night and had cried that morning at the thought that she would have to leave Cloisterham the next day, that she might never see him again. It was true, she didn’t really care that much about her birthday, it was just another day. But she did care about spending as much of her remaining free time as possible with Sidney.

Once she had finished her lasagne, Sidney cleared the plates and then Arthur came through to the front of the café, triumphantly bearing a small cake, coated in lashings of chocolate icing and covered in Malteser chocolate balls, with a candle on top. The two brothers sang Happy Birthday to her as Charlotte squealed in delight and blew out the candle.

“You do like chocolate I hope?” asked Arthur.

“Oh god yes, I eat tons of chocolate,” she laughed. “I developed a bit of an addiction during lockdown. Boredom, I suppose. Doesn’t do much for my figure though,” she grimaced, patting her gently rounded stomach.

“Your figure is perfect,” said Sidney, from behind his mask, “absolutely perfect.” She raised her eyes to meet his and a most becoming blush spread over her face.

Arthur observed the looks of longing passing between them. “What a shame you can’t go to the pub for a drink together,” he sighed. “Or even upstairs to Sidney’s flat.” Charlotte blushed again. “Sorry, Charlotte, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Arthur chuckled, “but you two are made for each other. Really. Sidney’s been much more bearable the last few weeks. He was even whistling in the kitchen yesterday.”

“Thanks Arthur.” Sidney punched his brother on the arm.

“Um… how was your date last night then, Arthur?” asked Charlotte.

“Oh, we didn’t get up to much,” he replied. “Just sat in the park and had a beer. Fred’s only here for a few months, working on that new development by the river. Unfortunately, he’s got someone back home, so you know... Never mind. Plenty more fish in the sea! Or at least there will be once this bloody pandemic’s over.” Arthur shook himself. “Hey, I nearly forgot, I bought some sparkling wine to go with our cake. Yes, Charlotte, just a little,” he batted away her protests, “go on, just one.”

Arthur disappeared to the kitchen to fetch the wine from the fridge, poured them each a glass and they raised it in a toast. Sidney and Arthur slipped down their masks for a moment to drink the wine and enjoy a slice of the delicious cake.

Although Charlotte only drank one glass, she relaxed instantly as the bubbles fizzed through her body, making her limbs feel light and her head giddy. But as she and Sidney left the café together, carrying boxes of takeaway food to give to the rough sleepers, the cold air hit her abruptly and she shivered, wrapping her scarf around her more tightly and pulling on her woollen gloves.

Sidney turned to her as they walked, some distance apart. “You should put your mask on, Charlotte,” he said. She had not really seen him without his since their dinner date the previous night, which now seemed like a strange dream, a touch of normality in an upside-down world. “It’s dangerous to get close to those guys without covering your face. I know you think I’m paranoid but, well, it wasn’t fun when Tom was in hospital, believe me.”

“Okay,” she replied, slipping it on. She looked across at him. “You’re very quiet,” she said. “What are you going to say to Edward?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted. “I’m beginning to think this is a futile venture.”

“It’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “He’s quite gentle really. Just make your peace with him. Try and persuade him to get some help.”

Feeling bold, Charlotte stretched across the gap between them and reached for his gloved hand. Surprised, Sidney turned to glance at her then, relaxing a little, wrapped his long fingers tightly around hers, his thumb brushing the top of her knuckles.

Edward was nowhere to be found outside the museum; he must have already returned to the inadequate shelter of his tent by the river. It was a freezing, misty night, with a hint of snow in the air and the gritters were already out, spreading salt on the roads. As they approached the murky grey river, it was difficult to see more than a few metres in front of them, as clouds of Dickensian fog hung over the water. They hurried along the esplanade towards the cast iron Victorian bridge, past the massive grey stone pile of the cathedral, the spooky graveyard with Fanny Dorrett’s headstone, and the rather ghostly looking castle, lit up by a blue spotlight in support of the NHS. Charlotte wondered to herself how many wars and pandemics the castle had seen in the last thousand years. How many lovers, or nearly-lovers, had huddled beneath its walls or within its moat.

Finally, they spotted a small collection of tents with some figures huddled outside in a group, drinking cans of beer and passing round a plastic bottle containing an unidentified liquid. The men didn’t even have a fire, but seeing as some of them were not entirely lucid, it was probably just as well. As they approached the group, one of them looked up. “Oh it’s that lovely young lady,” he grinned. “Hello Duchess.”

Charlotte crouched down a little. “We’ve brought you some food,” she said, depositing the boxes on the ground. “We’re looking for Eddie. Is he here?”

“Thanks love. Sir Edward is in his tent,” replied the man, nodding his head towards the tent on the farthest side of the group. “Might be asleep.”

Thanking him, Charlotte went over to Edward’s tent and called softly through the walls. “Eddie? Edward? It’s Charlotte. I’ve brought someone to meet you.”

No reply. She called again. A minute or so later, the zip opened and a head poked out. A head of scraggly fair hair underneath a dirty wool beanie. Charlotte sat down on the grass some distance away, as did Sidney.

“Who’s this?” asked Edward suspiciously.

“Don’t you recognise me?” asked Sidney.

“How can I, with that stupid thing on your face?”

“I’ve come to talk to you about going into a hostel. I know you’ve been discussing it with Charlotte.”

Edward looked up in astonishment. “I know who you are. Parker, isn’t it? From school?”

“That’s right.”

“Come to have a go at me more like.” Edward began to edge backwards into his tent.

“Edward, please,” pleaded Charlotte. “We just want to help. The Street Angels will be round later and they can get you into a hostel. Please think about it. You’ll freeze to death out here.”

“But what’s he doing here?” Edward spat.

Sidney took a deep breath. “I still think about her a lot, Edward. I’m sure you do too. I just wanted to say... let’s put the past in the past. And focus on the future. If you want me to help you, I can. You know where to find me, don’t you? The deli on the High Street.”

“If you want to help, you can give me some fucking money,” Edward grunted.

Sidney sighed, reached in his pocket and handed Edward a ten pound note. Edward mumbled his thanks and retreated into his tent, muttering, “I’ll think about it.”

Sidney looked at Charlotte and shrugged. “Oh well, it was worth a try,” she said quietly.

He hauled himself up off the ground and extended his hand to her. “Come on, let’s go.”

Bidding goodnight to the other men, they strolled along the river, hand in hand, saying very little, looking out at the lights of the boats glimmering through the mist and the translucent shapes of the birds on the water. A pair of swans batted their wings noisily and a peewit emitted its eerie cry. As they approached the end of the esplanade, near the marshes, they could hear the rumble of traffic from the austere concrete viaduct that towered over the river. Reversing their steps, they headed back to town. They walked the length of the High Street very slowly, reluctant for this evening to ever end but, far too soon, they found themselves in front of the building where Charlotte had been living for the past few weeks.

They turned to face each other in the chilly gloom. “Please take your mask off,” said Charlotte, “let me see you one last time.”

“Okay. And you.”

They stood some distance apart, under the flickering beam of the old-fashioned lamplight, drinking in each other’s features, committing them to memory, smiling tenderly but with tears in their eyes.

Sidney broke the silence. “Will you come and say goodbye at the café tomorrow, before you go?”

She shook her head. “No.” Her voice was breaking. “I think it’s better like this. Don’t you?”

“None of it’s better. None of it.” His voice was hoarse too. “Charlotte, I...”

“Sssh. It’s not the end of the world, you know,” she smiled, attempting to keep their spirits up. “We’ve got each other’s phone numbers, we can message, we can chat on Skype or whatever. Then we won’t have to wear masks at all. And maybe... maybe in a few months’ time we can meet up again. Properly.”

He smiled back at her admiringly. “I know. I wish...” He exhaled. “I really, really want to kiss you. Just once.”

“Close your eyes,” she said in reply. “Close your eyes and imagine you’re kissing me. I’ll do the same. Hold my hands.”

Their gloved fingers entwined, they both shut their eyes. After a minute or so, she spoke again. “Well? Is it good?”

“Good? It’s fucking amazing,” he replied.

Charlotte giggled. “It is, isn’t it? I’m quite enjoying it too. Bit longer?”

“Yes please.” Another minute passed.

“Mmm, that was nice,” she smiled, opening her eyes. “I shall remember that. Now let’s put our masks back on.”

“Why?”

“Stop asking questions Sidney.” He complied. Moving towards him, she rested her head against his chest, clutching onto his coat. Softly, he caressed her curls with his gloved fingers. Suddenly, she let out a sob and pulled away. “Goodnight,” she cried, and hurried inside.

Sidney stood in the street, waiting until she was up in her room, then turned to wave to her in the window before treading his way solemnly back along the High Street.

**********************

Both passed a rather lonely, unsettled night, dreaming of the other and cherishing the memories of their all too brief time together. Charlotte tossed and turned, sternly telling herself not to cry, but was unable to drop off for some hours and then only slept in light, fitful dozes. Finally, just before six in the morning, weary and frustrated, she hauled herself out of bed, threw on some clothes and went outside to greet the dawn. The sun was rising into an ochre red sky and the birds were beginning to wake up, flitting through the trees, searching for insects, but barely a soul was afoot. She headed down the empty High Street towards the river, a thousand thoughts running through her mind. Even supposing Sidney was happy for her to stay with him, was it really fair on him and his family? Or on her family, if she returned home for Christmas? What if she couldn’t return home and was trapped here? What if they realised they didn’t get on after all? Was there even any point starting something now if she would be stuck on the farm for the rest of the winter months?

The wind that morning was so biting that she was soon chilled to the bone and so returned to the relative warmth of the town. On her way back to her bedsit, she passed ‘Sweet Expectations’, still and quiet at this time of day. She stopped outside, looking up at Sidney’s window, his curtains drawn. She was just considering whether to throw all caution to the wind, go round the back and ring on his doorbell, fling herself into his arms and never let him go, when she spotted George, the old man who slept in the doorway next to the café, the man who had brought her and Sidney together that day a couple of weeks ago.

But George was lying in a strange position, twisted and uncomfortable, his sleeping bag halfway down his body. Charlotte approached him and spoke his name. No response. She poked him with her gloved hand. Nothing. Steeling herself, she removed her gloves and leaned over him, feeling his pulse. There was a faint flicker, she thought, but his skin was icy cold and turning blue. She attempted to arouse him, but to no avail. The man was freezing to death. Literally.

Shit. She reached in her pocket, then realised she had left her phone at the bedsit. She stood up, panicking, wondering what to do. Only one thing she could do. She ran round to the back of Sidney and Arthur’s café and let herself through the gate into the yard. There was a back door leading to the kitchen and another door beside it that led up to the flat. She rang the doorbell twice before realising it didn’t work, then banged on the door hard. Several times. Finally, there was the sound of footsteps running down the stairs and a chain being removed.

Sidney opened the door wide. There he was, standing in front of her, barefoot, in only a pair of blue pyjama bottoms, his chest bare, his hair tousled with sleep, rubbing his eyes. Once he realised who had been hammering on the door, he broke into a grin but then noticed her look of alarm. “Charlotte? What is it?”

She explained as best she could. “Hang on, I’ll just go and get some clothes on. Come in, use my phone while I get dressed.” Placing his hand on her back, he ushered her upstairs and passed her his phone.

Charlotte didn’t have time to take in her surroundings. She phoned for an ambulance and, by the time she had finished speaking to the operator, Sidney was in front of her again, in jeans and a thick sweater, pulling shoes onto his feet. “They said they’ll be 15 minutes, but it could take longer. They’re a bit stretched at the moment.” She frowned.

“Fifteen minutes! Shit, we’d better get him inside, try and warm him up,” said Sidney, and they both rushed outside and round to the front of the building.

Sidney, something of an expert at emergency situations due to his experience in the mountains, quickly assessed George, checking his breathing and feeling for his pulse. “Yes, he’s alive,” he nodded. “But only just about. Do you think you can help me carry him inside? We’ll have to be gentle, we don’t want him to go into cardiac arrest.”

“Of course.” Sidney took the weight of George’s unconscious body while Charlotte carried his legs and carefully, they carried him to the back door.

Sidney shut the door behind them. “Let’s just keep him in the hallway,” he said decisively, “you stay with him and I’ll go upstairs and get some blankets. Not much else we can do really until the ambulance comes.”

They were in luck. An ambulance arrived after 20 minutes. The paramedics, wearing full PPE, lifted George onto a stretcher and carried him into the back of the ambulance. “Doesn’t look good, to be honest,” said one of them sadly. “Not the first time this has happened to a rough sleeper. Well done for trying to keep him warm.”

“Okay,” said Sidney. “Will you let us know how he is?”

The woman nodded. “Of course. We’ll have to test him, you know. We’ll let you know the results as soon as we can.”

Sidney and Charlotte suddenly came to the realisation that neither of them had been wearing masks or gloves and that they had both been in very close proximity to George, as well as to each other. They watched the ambulance depart, its siren blaring.

“Shit,” said Sidney.

Charlotte turned to him, biting her lip. “What are we going to do now?”

Sidney gave her a shy smile. “Well, seeing as we’ve completely failed at social distancing, I suggest you come up to my flat and have a cup of tea? Would you like that?” She nodded. “Oh, and we’d better wash our hands. Come on.”

The flat was basic but cosy. There was a small, comfy, dark blue sofa, covered in a fluffy purple throw. Charlotte, feeling cold, huddled herself up in the blanket, looking round at the various photos on the walls of Sidney and his friends standing triumphantly on various mountain peaks. He was easy to recognise, even disguised in his climbing gear and ski goggles, and in a couple of the photos, a tall, fit, slim woman was standing close to him, hugging him and grinning widely. It was hard to make out the woman’s face, but there was long blonde hair poking out of her woollen cap.

Sidney came back in the room with two mugs of tea and sat on the sofa next to her. “I see you’re looking at my photos,” he smiled, and briefly explained where each one was. He mentioned Liz’s name quite casually, as if she were merely a friend, and Charlotte felt reassured. They were, after all, quite stunning achievements and Liz just happened to have shared them. Anyway, there were more pressing matters at hand than feeling envious of an athletic ex-girlfriend.

“I’ll have to go down and open up the café soon,” Sidney said, sipping his tea. “You ought to wait, you know, until the hospital calls. What time’s your train?”

“Midday,” she replied, “but I can delay for a while.”

He turned to her. “You look tired, Charlotte.”

“Yeah... I didn’t sleep well...”

“Neither did I. Why don’t you curl up on the sofa and try to have a nap while I go downstairs? I’ll come back and see you later. I’ll bring you something to eat.”

“Okay. Thank you.” He was gazing at her face, a small smile on his lips. “What is it?” she asked.

“Um... does this mean I can kiss you now?” he grinned shyly.

“I guess so. What the hell. Maybe just a little one.” She raised her face to meet his, her eyes shining.

Sidney gently touched her curls, lowering his head to brush her lips. They both sighed in contentment as, finally, their skin touched. They explored each other’s mouths slowly, savouring each movement of their lips, all the more delicious for having been denied to them for so long. Finally, they broke apart, resting their foreheads together. Charlotte reached up for another kiss. Sidney chuckled and started all over again.

“I have to go,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll be back soon.” He kissed her ear, her cheek, her hair. “By the way, that was even better than last night. A thousand times better.”

She giggled. “I agree.”

Sidney hurried downstairs. Yawning, Charlotte curled up in the cosy blanket and fell instantly asleep, a happy smile on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about George – it’s happened here a few times, sadly. The tent city is real too, although not in that exact location.  
> Is touching gloved hands okay? I’m not sure, but I think they were very restrained, all things considered!  
> And the birthday – cheesy I know, but Theo James shares a birthday with Jane Austen (does he even know??), so why not… 16 December 2020 was actually a Wednesday but you didn't know that, did you? :)
> 
> Forgot to mention - for the scene where they pretend to kiss, I was thinking of the end of Wives and Daughters (BBC adaptation) where Molly has been exposed to scarlet fever, so she can't touch or kiss Roger the last time she sees him (Gaskell couldn't finish it, but she intended them to be reunited!)


	5. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, big hugs to anyone who’s had this disease or had to deal with it in any way (and big thanks to all medical staff, teachers and other key workers). I’m very lucky that no one in my family has had it and our parents have now had their first vaccines. But all my children had to self-isolate during Nov-Dec after being in contact with students who tested positive. For some reason they reduced the isolation period from 14 to 10 days in December, I don’t know why. At that time, testing was not widely available unless you had symptoms.  
> I added a note to the previous chapter – I’d forgotten about the end of Wives and Daughters (Gaskell) when Roger and Molly can’t touch or kiss, as Molly’s been in contact with scarlet fever. That’s what I was thinking of in the imaginary kiss scene.  
> But I expect you can guess what’s going to happen with these two now! 😊

Charlotte yawned, stretching out on the sofa in her half-asleep state. Something warm and furry was sitting on her face, shifting about. “What are you...?” she began, then smiled to herself as she realised the warm and furry thing was a cat. A large black and white cat, staring at her suspiciously, licking its paws. Charlotte removed the cat from her head, blinking a moment as she took in her surroundings, the dramatic events of that morning coming back to her in a flash. She dragged herself up to use the bathroom, wondering what time it was. When she returned to the lounge, Sidney had let himself into the flat and was sitting on the sofa, stroking the cat on his lap, smiling at her, although he seemed a little anxious.

“Is that your cat? He was sitting on my head. Is it a he?”

“I have no idea. It just turned up one day in the yard and kept coming back, so I adopted it.”

Charlotte went over to him, gently picked up the cat and peered closely underneath its tail. “It’s a he, I think. We have several cats on the farm. You should probably get it neutered.” She put the animal back on Sidney’s knee. “What’s his name?” she asked, stretching up her arms to put her messy hair in a ponytail, giving him a glimpse of her bare stomach.

“Err... Cat,” he grinned.

“Cat?”

“Well, that’s what it is,” he laughed. “I’ve brought you some coffee and an egg roll,” he said, pointing to a package and a cardboard cup on the small table in the middle of the lounge. But I need to talk to you first.” His expression turned serious. “Sit down, Charlotte.”

Charlotte sat on the sofa and Sidney moved closer to her, shooing the cat from his lap and letting it run off into the kitchen. “What is it?”

He took her hands in his, stroking her knuckles with his thumb as he spoke. “Do you want the bad news or... the bad news?”

Charlotte gulped. “Go on.”

“George didn’t make it, I’m afraid.”

Charlotte squeezed his hand. “That’s sad. But we did everything we could.”

Sidney nodded. “Now for the other bad news. He tested positive for Covid. Obviously they need to confirm the first test, but...”

“Shit,” Charlotte said quietly. “Poor bloke.”

“Yes. But... as we were in contact with him, for quite some time, without any protection... well, we need to self-isolate, I’m afraid. For a minimum of ten days.” He took his phone out of his pocket. “They’ve sent me a text, look.”

Charlotte read the standard Track and Trace text. Mutely, she looked up at Sidney, tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? Why on earth are you sorry?”

“Because it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have called on you, I shouldn’t have done anything, we should have put our masks on... how stupid of me.” She was shaking.

“For god’s sake, come here,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “You did nothing wrong. You tried to save a guy’s life. The kind of guy that most people would just walk past.”

She pulled back, still upset. “But I’ve put you at risk as well as myself. And your family, your business... oh god, and how can I possibly go home? What am I going to do? Can I still go home? What does the text say?”

“Charlotte, calm down,” he said, soothing her and forcing her to rest against his chest. “Put your arms round me, that’s right. It’s okay.” He was a little surprised by her reaction, as his own initial thoughts had tended more towards the surprisingly welcome fact that they would both have to self-isolate. Preferably together. He scolded himself inwardly for his selfishness; of course the implications of what had happened were much wider than that, had affected many more people than just themselves. And there was always the possibility that they might fall ill.

Charlotte was calmer now, her hands clinging to his back, thinking how broad and solid and warm he felt. “I won’t be able to go home, will I?” she asked quietly.

“You shouldn’t, no. You shouldn’t travel and then anyway, even if you did get home, you’d have to isolate there.”

“Not very easy in a house full of people.” She looked up at him. “But I’m supposed to leave the bedsit today. I guess I could ask to stay on, but it’s more money and - oh this will run over Christmas, won’t it? And we were going to celebrate my birthday this weekend too.” She began to cry.

Sidney stroked her hair gently, thinking that for someone so intelligent and academic, she didn’t always have a lot of common sense. As far as he was concerned, the solution was staring them in the face. He lifted her chin up to look at him. “Stay here. We’ll isolate together.” There was a small smile at the corners of his mouth.

She smiled back. “Well, that did cross my mind. But I didn’t want to presume... after all, you don’t have much room here.”

Sidney bent his head to kiss her. “Presume all you like.” Then he checked his own presumptions, clearing his throat. “Um... you can have my bed, of course. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“Oh that wouldn’t be fair,” she replied, “we’ll have to take it in turns.”

“No really, it’s fine.”

“No, I insist.”

“No, _I_ insist.”

She laughed. “If you say so. But what about the café? You won’t be able to work.”

“No, I need to talk to Tom about that. He might be willing to come in if we revert to takeaways only. Looks like that’s going to be the new rules soon anyway.” He sighed. “Look, I’m going back down to talk to Arthur... yes, it’s okay, I’ll stay away from people, I promise... you have your coffee and phone your parents, do what you need to do. I’ll give you a key.”

“Okay.” She sprang into action. “I’ll get my stuff from the bedsit, there isn’t much. Are you sure you don’t mind, Sidney?”

Sidney grinned at her. “Do I look like I mind? Obviously, fingers crossed we both stay well and don’t develop any symptoms, but if we do, at least we’re together. Arthur can supply us with food, not sure about Christmas Day but then it’s going to be a weird Christmas for everyone I guess...”

“Don’t worry. We’ll manage.”

“Right. I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead.

She reached up to kiss him on the lips. “I’ve thought of a name for your cat, by the way.”

“What?” he asked, kissing her back, wondering how he was ever going to tear himself away from those plump, juicy lips.

“George. He was the one who brought us together, after all.”

***************************

Later that afternoon, Sidney let himself into the flat, a little tired and harassed, having spent most of the day sorting out affairs in the café and making plans for the future with Tom and Arthur (from a distance). And yet, when it was time to go home, he bounded up the stairs to the flat, excited at the thought that there was someone waiting for him, someone he was looking forward to coming home to at the end of the day. He felt a little guilty that it had taken a health emergency and a sad death to create this happy state of affairs but, well, it was a small silver lining on the large cloud that had been hanging over their lives for the last year. He was a little nervous about how the next ten days would play out, but only a little. He had a feeling they would get on very well, finding lots to talk about and discover about each other. The only thing that concerned him was how he was going to manage to sleep on the sofa every night when he knew that this gorgeous woman was only a few feet away, sleeping in his bed. Well, he would just have to see what happened.

“Hello!” he called out, as he came through the door. But there was no sign of Charlotte in the lounge, no sign of her bags or her laptop. Just the cat, sitting on the sofa, licking itself. The cat looked up at him as if to say ‘What are you doing in my space?’

“Where is she, George?” he asked. The bedroom door was open but there was no sign of her there either. He was suddenly fearful that she might have decided to head back to Hampshire on the train before it was too late. No. Please no. He checked his phone, but there was no message from her. Dejected, he headed to the bathroom. As he pushed open the door, he soon realised his mistake. There she was, standing under the shower with her back to him, the water cascading over her face. She turned her head in surprise. “Oh!”

“Sorry,” Sidney said, shutting the door, but not before he had caught a glimpse of her beautifully rounded arse. He chuckled to himself as he went through to the lounge to wait. Bloody hell. Ten days of this was going to be torture.

Not long afterwards, Charlotte passed through, wrapped in a towel with another one perched on her head. “Hello,” she smiled.

“Sorry about that,” he said, looking up sheepishly, trying not to focus on her bare shoulders, thinking how cute she looked with all her hair swept under the towel. “I didn’t know where you were, I thought you might have gone home...”

“Don’t be daft,” she said, ruffling his hair. “I’m right here. I’ve put my stuff in your bedroom, I hope that’s okay. I’ve spoken to mum and dad. They were a bit disappointed, but they understand.”

“Where did you tell them you were staying?”

She grinned. “With a friend. How’s the café? How’s Tom?”

“Alright. He was a bit stressed when I told him but Arthur managed to calm him down. We’ll work something out, don’t worry. I’m shattered actually. I’m going to have a shower myself.”

“Okay. I’ll get dressed.” Sidney’s eyes lingered on her back as she made her way to the bedroom.

He stood under the hot water, washing away all the grime and sweat and, hopefully, the germs. Christ, this was going to be difficult, living in such close proximity to her, twenty-four hours a day. His cock began to stir as he recalled the image of her naked in the shower, turning her head to look at him, her long hair clinging to her head like wet tendrils, her strong back and her beautiful, shapely curves... He knew she liked him, she’d made that clear, but he certainly didn’t want to presume anything or push things too quickly.

Charlotte sat on the bed, facing the small mirror perched on a bookshelf, brushing her hair. She was taking her time as she kept looking at the books on the shelves. He did read books after all! Although they were mostly books about mountaineering, explorers, travel books and sports biographies from what she could tell. He had certainly seen and done a lot more than her in the last ten years, which made her feel a little inadequate, a little boring even. She liked walking, but the highest hill she’d ever climbed was Glastonbury Tor, when she’d been to the festival and she’d hardly exercised over the last year, not properly anyway. It was difficult when all the gyms and swimming pools were shut, easier in the spring when the weather had been so mockingly glorious, but since the autumn, the rain and cold had stopped her going out much, and she wasn’t really keen on exercising indoors. And yet, Sidney had reassured her that the fact they had different interests was a good thing, it gave them something to talk about, a way to broaden their horizons, and he certainly didn’t seem to mind her curves or her extra lockdown pounds. In fact, he seemed to like them very much. Charlotte smiled to herself as she recalled their silly sparring match over who was going to sleep in the lounge. She was very much hoping that neither of them would ever have to sleep on the sofa. She was just a little shy about making the first move.

Suddenly, a startlingly tempting vision appeared behind her in the mirror. Sidney, standing in the doorway, with only a towel wrapped round his waist, his hair shaggy and wet. Sidney, with very well defined pectoral muscles, a six pack and powerful biceps. For a few seconds, Charlotte’s eyes were glued to the mirror. Then she turned to him, smiling. “Hi. Do you have a hairdryer?”

“No. I can get one if you like. I’ll ask Mary. Um... can I get dressed please, Charlotte?” He ran his hand nervously through his wet mop of hair.

“Of course.” She stood up and made her way towards the door, a small smirk on her face. As she passed him, she stopped, feeling a little bolder, and gently traced a line down the centre of his chest with her finger, brushing against the wiry dark hairs. Sidney swallowed as he caught her gaze. “You’re so... lean,” she said. “Hardly an ounce of fat on you.”

“I’ve let myself go a bit this year,” he smiled, a little bashfully. “I go running along the river most days, but I haven’t been able to exercise as much as usual.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Let yourself go?” she giggled. “Bloody hell, I’d like to see what you look like when you’re fully fit.” Her palm was now laid flat on the hard expanse between his nipples.

“I’m usually skinnier when I’m climbing. I’ve filled out a bit over lockdown.”

“Yeah, so have I.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I’ll let you get dressed,” she continued, suddenly embarrassed, and closed the door behind her.

Sidney had brought some spinach and ricotta cannelloni from the café, which they ate as they sat on the sofa, sharing a bottle of red wine, watching a film about mountaineering called _Touching the Void_ , from the many such DVDs in his collection. They had spent a little time arguing over what to watch and had finally decided that, over their isolation period, they would alternate between period dramas – preferably Austen or Dickens – and adventure films or documentaries. As Sidney had already spent the whole of last Sunday watching the 1995 version of _Pride and Prejudice_ and could even quote some of the lines, Charlotte agreed to be initiated into the world of mountaineering. This particular film was a true story of two friends who were climbing in the Peruvian Andes together, when things went horribly wrong. Sidney knew the terrain well and gave her a running commentary. She had to admit it was fascinating to listen to and exciting to watch, at least from the comfort of the sofa.

Their empty plates were discarded on the table, along with the bottle of wine, which was still half-full. Charlotte was growing sleepy again; it had been a long day. Tucking her legs up on the sofa, she leaned across into Sidney’s warmth and laid her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm tightly around her and she snuggled in closer. George had taken up position on the other armchair, eyeing them narrowly.

“I never, ever imagined this last night,” she whispered to him. “I thought that was it, I thought I might never see you again. I was so upset.”

He turned his head towards her. “Were you?”

She nodded. “Crazy, isn’t it? We’ve only known each other a few weeks. And we don’t even have that much in common.”

He muted the volume on the TV, pulling her even closer towards him, kissing her forehead. “I’d say we have a lot in common. We care about people. And we’re not afraid to do things. Maybe that’s enough.”

“Have courage and be kind,” Charlotte recited.

“What’s that? Jane Austen?”

“No,” she laughed. “Cinderella. I watched a lot of Disney films during the first lockdown. Lovely happy endings. Escapism from real life, I suppose.”

“Who says real life doesn’t have a happy ending?” he said in a deep, husky voice, lowering his head towards hers.

“Ooh, you’re smooth,” she giggled. “Stop talking and kiss me.”

The kiss was deeper and more passionate than before, both confident that this really was going to work out, that things were going to be just fine. His hands became enmeshed in her hair as she snaked her arms around his waist and their bodies drew nearer. Sidney suddenly clocked that she was not wearing a bra, conscious of her soft breasts squashed against him. His hands drifted under her top, stroking her bare back, as he felt her lift up his sweater and place her palm on his stomach, just above the waistband of his jeans. Her breathing was quickening, her chest rising and falling. She raised her hands to cup his cheeks, that beautiful jawline that had been concealed to her for so long, and looked him deep in the eyes.

“You don’t have to sleep on the sofa you know,” she said with a shy smile.

“No?”

“No.” She stood up, disengaging herself from their embrace. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

Sidney rose from the sofa and, taking her hand, led her through to the bedroom.

**********************************

They lay some distance apart, taking in the full view of each other’s bodies that they had barely had time to appreciate. Clothes had been discarded hastily, words of reassurance had been exchanged swiftly, passion had been ignited instantly. Foreplay had been attempted and abandoned. They had joined together with urgency, with need, but also with naked acceptance and simple happiness. Months of loneliness and lack of contact had washed away in an instant.

He sifted her hair through his fingers, gently stroking the full length of her cheek, brushing his thumb against her full lips. “You’re beautiful, Charlotte. Very beautiful.”

In response, she kissed his thumb, then mirrored his actions, running her fingers through his soft, dark curls, across the roughness of his jaw to his broad shoulders, the tips of her fingers tracing a line all the way down his chest, and drifting south to draw circles on his wide, muscular thigh. “You’re so...” she sighed, “warm and hard and solid.”

He extended his other hand, caressing her thighs, her stomach, her full breasts. “And you’re so... warm and soft and squishy,” he smiled.

“Opposites attract?”

“Definitely. Very much so.”

“But less of the squishy please,” she said, poking his belly button.

He edged closer to her, one large hand spanning her arse cheek, the other softly kneading her breast. “But I like it. I love it. All of it. Don’t ever change.” He leaned in for a kiss.

“Really?”

“Really.” He moved even closer, peppering kisses all over her face. “Can’t you tell how much I like it?” He groaned softly into her ear, pressing hard against her thigh.

“Already? Again?”

“If you want to.”

“I do.” Scissoring her leg over his, she guided him inside her and they rocked back and forth, side by side, with less urgency but even more intensity than the first time, never once taking their eyes off each other. Needing to be deeper, he rolled her hips on top of his, watching in awe as her soft body bounced and writhed and her curls tumbled over her face and then his, as she leaned down to kiss him.

They lay in a messy heap, tired, breathless and happy. “Well, Charlotte,” he chuckled, “self-isolation is going to be a lot more fun than I thought.”

“Mmm. Whatever are we going to do with ourselves for ten days?” she yawned, snuggling into his comforting warmth and drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. Charlotte says she has a Mirena coil that she didn’t bother getting removed during lockdown. Just assume they had the conversation at some point! I felt like it was appropriate to have a “Fleabag pull the camera down” moment here.  
> I’m really surprised a cat turned up in this story as cats creep me out! It seemed to tie in with the stray/homeless theme and I wanted them to name something after George, but it’s way too early for a Kidlotte 😉 Useless piece of information: Dickens had a cat that sat on his desk while he was writing. Apparently this cat was deaf. So there’s a cafe in my town called The Deaf Cat.  
> ‘Touching the Void’ is really good if you haven’t seen it! There is also a book. I’m a bit of an armchair adventure person too, although I do like travelling and hiking in the hills, in normal times.


	6. The Ghost of Christmas Past, Present and Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your lovely comments!  
> I think I may have run out of steam... (in more ways than one)  
> I never intended this to be a long story, just a little vignette of life in lockdown and a chance to make two people a little less lonely... I decided not to give them too many hang-ups or personal drama this time, which I found quite relaxing. It was also nice (and very self-indulgent of me) to have Sidney and Charlotte come to live in my town...  
> So this is the last chapter - spending Christmas locked in together. (I'm always out of sync - I might write a Valentines story in June!)

For three days and three nights, Sidney and Charlotte barely moved from the bedroom, except to visit the bathroom or refuel in the kitchen, although Arthur provided them with a steady supply of meals and groceries which he left at the back door. They attempted to watch a few films, but often switched off the TV halfway through. If it was a period drama, Charlotte would usually start explaining all the background and characters to Sidney, and if it was a mountain film, it would recall some memory for Sidney and he would then want to tell her about one of his many adventures. On other occasions, they were simply too impatient to wait for the end of the programme so they could hurry back to bed or, as the building was even older than Dickens and had its own chimney, made love on the rug in front of the roaring log fire.

Charlotte had had several lovers over the years, but never one she felt quite so relaxed and happy with as Sidney. The sex was good, better than good, but she also cherished the time they spent cuddling in bed, talking about their childhoods, their university days, finding out everything they possibly could about each other. They seemed to be compatible on so many levels, even though on the surface they were very different. The only thing they really disagreed on was politics; not because they had different views, but because it was not something Sidney had ever thought was that important. Charlotte tried to put him right on that score and make him see how politics affected their everyday lives and the lives of everyone in the town and indeed the country, but Sidney maintained that nothing really ever changed, whoever was in power. Nothing had really changed that much from the time of Dickens, he argued, and she had to concede that in some ways he was right. Yet she still felt it was important to do your bit and try to effect that change.

Sidney meanwhile was simply delighted to have stumbled upon this honest, straightforward, funny, caring, beautiful woman who accepted him as he was. And, he had to admit, his vanity was rather flattered by the adulation she showed towards his mountaineering exploits, and her admiration of his athleticism. It was nice not to feel as if he was in a constant competition, as he often had with Liz. Over time, he and Liz had simply got bored of each other and run out of things to talk about; perhaps they were just too similar. They had never been able to discuss literature or politics or anything of that sort and, although he was sometimes a little intimidated by Charlotte’s breadth of knowledge and her fierce intellect, he found it refreshing to have his mind opened to topics he had never paid much attention to before. And, it goes without saying that he couldn’t get enough of her very fine pair of eyes and her sumptuous, luscious body.

On the fourth day, however, he began to get a little restless and, on the fifth morning, Charlotte awoke to see him stretched out on the floor doing vigorous exercises. She felt tired just watching him; although she missed being able to wander about in the open countryside near her family’s farm, she was also perfectly happy to lie in bed all day reading.

“What’s up with you?” she laughed, as he brought her a cup of coffee, kissed her, then got down on the floor to do some more press-ups.

“I can’t stand being cooped up,” he said. “I’ve never been inside for this long, ever in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I love being with you, but... do you think it would matter if I went for a run?”

“No, you mustn’t,” said Charlotte, appalled. “It’s against the rules.”

“But I feel fine,” he groaned, arms still pumping up and down, breathing in and out noisily, “and neither of us have any symptoms. Couldn’t I go late in the evening or something? Along the river? There’ll be nobody about.”

She frowned. “I suppose it would be alright. As long as you’re careful.”

“Of course. I’ll run in the road if I pass anyone.”

He was a little tetchy and restless all day. Charlotte attempted to get on with some work and leave him to his own devices but in a way, she was quite glad when late that night, he put on his running gear and headed out. When he returned, she was in the bathroom cleaning her teeth. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms tightly round her waist, placing his cold cheek against hers.

“Get off! You’re freezing!” she giggled. “And sweaty too.”

“I’m getting in the shower,” he growled into her ear. “Join me?” His icy cold hands were already edging inside her pyjamas. Charlotte sighed in delight. It was strange how easily they had fallen into this domestic routine, as if they had been married for years. Yet perhaps if they had been married for years, they wouldn’t be having steamy sex in the shower, which was what happened just a few minutes later.

“Well, that certainly seems to have revivified you,” she smiled up at him, as they lay in bed afterwards, hair wet, bodies calmed, appetites sated. “Perhaps you should go for a run every night.”

On Christmas morning, Sidney and Charlotte woke up in each other’s arms. Although Sidney had spent many strange Christmases in ski resorts in the Alps, in mountain huts in the Andes, or on the beach in Australia, Charlotte had never spent the festivities away from home before, and she felt a little sad not to be in the farmhouse back in Wivelrod, with the sound of her brothers and sisters charging up and down the stairs in excitement, the tantalising cooking smells drifting up from the large farmhouse kitchen and the anticipation of a fun, hectic day. Instead, it was just the two of them, just another day locked in together. And yet there was something rather delicious about that too – no family obligations, no one to bother them, no schedule to stick to, they could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. Arthur had delivered some bags of food from the supermarket, including a free-range chicken for their dinner, but he was having a well-deserved day off.

They had both secretly ordered each other gifts and a few mysterious parcels had arrived that week, although they discovered too late that they had no Christmas paper to wrap them with. Charlotte spent ages trying to decide what to get for Sidney; men were impossible to buy presents for at the best of times, and it was even harder choosing a gift for someone she’d only known a couple of weeks, especially considering they couldn’t go out or plan any trips anywhere.

As they snuggled under the covers together with their morning cups of tea, Sidney presented Charlotte with two large packages, hoping he had made the right choice. He didn’t want to overwhelm her with anything too lavish or romantic; after all, they had only been together for a week and, in theory at least, she would be going back to Hampshire before New Year. He was very much hoping that he could persuade her to stay but, in truth, they hadn’t discussed any plans for the future. It seemed futile to do so when no one in the country seemed to know what was happening or when life would ever return to some sort of normality. It was better just to live day by day, to enjoy whatever the morning might bring, and to treasure every moment together.

“Oh, that’s great!” exclaimed Charlotte, opening the package to reveal a cosy, dark blue dressing gown.

“Stop you wearing mine all the time.” He kissed her. “Open the other one.”

Clearly books. In fact a whole set of books. The complete set of Jane Austen’s works in a beautiful illustrated, hardback format. “Well, you said you were missing your copies. Are they okay?” he asked uncertainly.

“They’re gorgeous. Really beautiful. My copies are all worn and battered. Thank you. Oh look, there’s even the Sanditon fragment in one of these. The one with Charlotte and Tom Parker in.”

“And Tom’s brother Sidney of course,” he said with a wink. “The hero. Maybe you should finish it off. Give Charlotte a happy ending.”

“I might just do that.” She kissed him again. “Thank you, Mr Parker. How about your presents? I really didn’t have a clue what to get you... I hope you like it.”

She had bought him some new running gear, more colourful than what he usually wore, with fluorescent stripes, a matching beanie to keep his head warm and even a miner’s lamp to put on his head. “I worry about you running in the dark.”

He held her tight and kissed her lovingly. “Thank you, Charlotte. It’s nice to have someone who worries about me.”

“And once we’re able to go out, I’ll take George to the vet’s and get him neutered and microchipped.” George was currently curled up on the foot of their bed, completely uninterested in what they were doing. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you much,” she said uncertainly.

“Charlotte,” he said, pulling her underneath him and gazing deep into those beautiful brown eyes, “You being here is the best present ever. I never expected that this Christmas would be so... wonderful.”

He bent down to kiss her, kicking George off the bed in the process. The cat seemed to hang around much more now that Charlotte was here, for some reason, but he didn’t appreciate George’s beady eyes on them when they were getting intimate. And he certainly felt like getting intimate on Christmas morning. Lifting her T-shirt up over her head, he kissed a line from her mouth, down her neck, landing on her breasts, where he paused to tease her perky nipples with the tip of his tongue, before edging down to her stomach and then between her legs. Charlotte purred in delight at the sensation of his rough jawline brushing against her skin, the way he seemed to know exactly which erogenous zones to arouse. Their initial, urgent lovemaking on the first night had been followed by days of slow exploration, discovering what each other liked, sometimes by instinct, sometimes with unembarrassed guidance. Although the week they had spent locked in together was a bizarre kind of honeymoon period, they had become so close and intimate and relaxed with each other that it was now almost impossible to imagine her previous life, to imagine life without Sidney. He was teasing her again, gently brushing her thighs with his nose and his lips, and his tongue had just reached its goal, her hands clutching his hair and pulling him impatiently into her, when there was a series of loud raps on the door downstairs.

He raised his head. “Shit. Who’s that, on Christmas morning?” He dragged himself up, a little flustered, wiped his mouth with his hand, shrugged on his dressing gown and, belting it round his waist, ran downstairs to the back door where he was greeted by a whole host of Parkers, standing in small, distanced groups in the yard. Tom and Mary, their three children, Jenny, Alicia and Henry, Diana with her two children Axel and Emilie, Arthur, and even his mum and dad, standing a little further back. He broke into a broad grin.

“Where’s Charlotte?” asked Jenny excitedly. “We want to meet her. We’ve brought you lots of presents.”

Sidney called up to Charlotte, who soon appeared in her new dressing gown. “I see you haven’t managed to get dressed yet,” chuckled Arthur. “Hope we didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Arthur!” Diana admonished him. “Sorry Max couldn’t be here. He’s working today.”

The children began to sing ‘We wish you a Merry Christmas’ and everyone joined in. Sidney held Charlotte close to him as she said hello to everyone and thanked them for all their gifts, which included a good supply of cakes, mince pies and several bottles of wine.

After everyone had said their goodbyes, Sidney and Charlotte made their way upstairs. “Sorry,” said Sidney, holding her close as they stood in the small, bright kitchen surrounded by all their gifts, “We were interrupted. Shall we carry on?”

Charlotte looked at the clock. “Oh god, it’s 11.15. I promised mum and dad we’d do a Zoom call at 11.30, I’d better get dressed. You too. I want you to say hello to them, you know.”

“Sure,” he sighed. “I’d better get the chicken in the oven and start preparing the veg, I suppose.”

“There’s no hurry. We can eat dinner when we want, can’t we?”

“You’re right. No one to tell us what to do. Coffee and cakes then?”

Charlotte quickly got dressed and made herself presentable, then logged onto her laptop for the call. Very soon, she was met by a gang of Harrises on the other end of the line, all crowding round each other to try and get their faces on the screen. They chatted away merrily for a while, everyone trying to speak at once. Sidney came into the room, bringing her a cup of coffee.

“Sidney, come and say hello to my family. Come on, don’t be shy, sit down.”

Sidney sat on the sofa close to Charlotte and gave them a wave. “Hello everyone.”

Charlotte introduced them all. “This is my mum and dad, Derek and Jean. And this is Gabriel, Jude, Emily, Anna and Alison.” Alison’s eyes were nearly popping out of her head. They chatted for a few minutes and then Sidney disappeared into the kitchen.

Alison, her sister closest in age, leaned forward towards the webcam. “Shit, Charlotte, you said you were staying with a friend.”

“Language, Alison,” scolded her mum.

“He _is_ a friend,” laughed Charlotte.

“What kind of friend?” her sister continued, eyebrows raised to heaven. “He’s bloody gorgeous.”

“Well,” blushed Charlotte, “he’s a good friend. A very good friend. He’s lovely actually. Really lovely.”

There was a brief silence, then Mr Harris spoke up. “You haven’t known him very long though, have you? Just be careful, Charlotte.”

“Dad,” she laughed. “I’m 28. You’ve been telling me to be careful all my life. I’m fine. Really. I’m very... happy. And I’m looking forward to seeing you all soon.”

But Mrs Harris had a worried expression on her face. “You know Charlotte, there’s going to be another lockdown. Everyone’s saying it. Straight after New Year.” She lowered her voice a little. “Listen darling, if you want to stay there, with him... Sidney... well, it’s up to you.”

“I don’t know mum, we haven’t talked about it...” said Charlotte hesitantly.

“Well, maybe you should. Of course we’d love to have you back here darling, but it might be safer if you stay there. Best not to travel really. And we can always send you things you might need. But it’s up to you, of course.”

“Okay mum. I’ll think about it.”

After the call ended, Charlotte went to find Sidney, who was sitting at the kitchen table, on his own laptop. She stood behind his chair and curled her arms around his neck, her cheek close to his. “Working? On Christmas Day?"

"Just having a look at a few things for the company. Been thinking of plans for the summer, that’s all.” His browser was open at various websites of youth hostels and campsites in the Peak District, the Lake District and the Highlands of Scotland.

Charlotte poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down at the table next to him. Her hands circled round the mug a little nervously. She took a deep breath. “Mum says there’s going to be another full lockdown. Really soon. All the schools will be closed, everything, except for essential shops like yours.”

“Yes, I saw that,” he replied, waiting to hear what she would say next. He knew full well what he wanted to happen.

“So you’ll carry on working in the shop? Or will you go back to London?”

He shook his head. “No reason to go to London. It’s Liz’s flat, anyway, I just used to stay there. So technically, I’m homeless. This place is just rented along with the shop. I’ll stay here until things improve. Um... what are your plans? Long-term I mean.” He drummed his fingers on the table, searching her eyes for an answer.

She tilted her head to one side, still clutching her mug. “Well, once I’ve finished my PhD, I’m hoping to get a job in a university somewhere. I’ve put out some feelers already, but this won’t be until next autumn. I just thought... if I go home to mum and dad’s, we might not see each other for months. It could be March or April before people are allowed to travel again, even later, who knows.” She held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

Sidney leaned over and took her hand in his. “Stay.”

“Really? You mean it?”

“Of course I mean it. Unless you get really sick of me, that is. Um... why are you crying, Charlotte?”

“Why do you think? Of course I want to stay. I can work here in peace, I can visit all the Dickens sites and... I’ll be with you,” she said, beaming happily through her tears.

“Good,” he grinned. “That’s settled then. Come here.” He opened his arms wide and she came to sit on his lap. “Look, the next few months are going to be tough for everyone, but it’ll be more fun if we’re together, won’t it?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said softly, kissing her lips, “I couldn’t be happier.”

“Me neither,” she whispered, playing with the soft curls around his ears, way overdue for a cut but too beautiful to be shorn, then stroking his rough stubble, which was fast growing into a beard. The kiss deepened and lengthened as Sidney pulled her in closer, his hands exploring the bare skin under her sweater. Slowly, he stood, scooping her up in his arms, still kissing her passionately.

“Where are we going?” she smiled, looking into those gorgeous dark eyes.

“Where do you think? Back to bed.”

****************************

Three days later, their self-isolation period was over. Tom, however, had decided to keep the shop closed until the New Year to give everyone a break, so Sidney and Charlotte had a few more days to themselves. By this time, even Charlotte was itching to get out of the flat, so they made grand plans to walk all the way to Cobham Woods on the other side of the river, the woods where Dickens used to spend hours walking in the afternoons after a morning’s writing. The sky was a glorious shade of blue and the winter sunshine was piercingly bright, but it was icy cold with a touch of frost on the ground. Wrapping up warm and holding hands, they made their way down the High Street and along the river, revelling in the simple pleasure of being outside in the fresh air, at long last. As they approached the towering concrete motorway bridge, Charlotte noticed that the collection of tents where Edward had been sleeping had completely disappeared.

“Look,” she said. “They’ve all gone.”

“Strange. I wonder why. Maybe something to do with the lockdown.”

“Yes, apparently the Council offers them emergency accommodation when the temperature drops below zero. During the first lockdown a lot of rough sleepers were taken into hostels, but then they drifted out again. Hopefully they’re all back inside, keeping warm.”

“So why do they come back and sleep rough again? I don’t get it.”

“Well, sometimes the hostels have strict rules about drugs and alcohol. But I suppose some of them just get used to life on the street. They don’t like being told what to do. Edward’s so young though. He could turn his life around if he wanted to.”

“Well, I hope he finally gets the help he needs. I mean it. Honestly.”

Charlotte stopped and turned to face him, squeezing his hands in hers. “Do you feel better about all that now? Less bitter perhaps?”

“I do. Sometimes I wonder if that’s one reason I went abroad for so long, to get away from here and all those memories. I never really faced up to it all until I was forced to come back. All this... sitting still, not being able to go anywhere, makes you think about stuff, doesn’t it?” Sidney pulled her close to him, kissing her nose which was red from the cold. “And you. You’ve helped me. More than I can say.”

In response, she coiled her arms around his neck and gave him a loving kiss. Their foreheads rested against each other, noses touching. Then Sidney nodded his head towards the viaduct. “Right, you see that bridge? There’s a footpath that goes over it. That’s how we get to the other side,” he said with the tiniest of smirks.

Charlotte’s eyes widened and she turned a little pale. “You didn’t tell me we were going up there. Shit. It’s so high!”

“Come on,” he said, extending his hand as they mounted the footpath towards the bridge. “It’s only a mile to the other side.”

Soon they were on top of the bridge, 120 feet up in the air, peering over the precipice of the viaduct at the fast-flowing river below them, the ancient Roman town in the distance, the Norman castle and the spire of the cathedral mere specks on the horizon, the roar of the motorway traffic rumbling behind them and the screech of the high-speed Eurostar train zooming past on its way to Paris.

Charlotte trembled a little as Sidney held her tight. “Come on,” he said, taking her hand in his, “It’s perfectly safe. You won’t fall. I’m with you. Always.”

***************************

_This is the end... for now... I could write some chapters about their lockdown together, but it might get a little repetitive… do some work, have sex, eat, read a book, watch a film, have sex, go for a walk, do some more work, eat, have some more sex… maybe life’s not so bad after all!_

_Perhaps I’ll check up on them in a few months’ time... hopefully they’ll be living in a cosy little cottage somewhere in the hills (once things have improved, fingers crossed). I’d like to think Charlotte gets a job as a lecturer at a university, perhaps somewhere in the North of England, so Sidney can have a base for his travel business (all the best hills/mountains are in the North of England / Wales / Scotland). Maybe one day he gets her to go up a mountain, one of the easy ones you can walk up. Maybe one day he reads a Dickens novel. Both are quite impressive achievements!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Men are impossible to buy presents for – aren’t they?! I think so anyway.  
> There is an old Victorian bridge over the river, near the town centre (there has been a bridge in that location since Roman times) and further up the river there is a modern viaduct (3 bridges for cars and trains) with a foot/cycle path running alongside it – there are barriers, but unfortunately people jump into the river on occasion. I considered a scene with Edward, Sidney and Charlotte on the bridge, but then decided it was more realistic for Edward to just drift away, as so many rough sleepers do. One day you see them, one day you don’t… 
> 
> https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2020/jun/04/ive-never-felt-so-close-to-anyone-this-quickly-the-whirlwind-romances-of-lockdown  
> Discodarling sent me this article about couples who had to make that choice last year about whether to move into together or not - I wonder how many are still together. It's nice to think there are some positives to come out of the difficult year we've all had. Lots of love xx

**Author's Note:**

> I may take some artistic licence with the Sanditon story...  
> This is early December so Charlotte would still have been able to travel for work at this point. I may bend the rules slightly, as in my town all pubs, restaurants and cafés have been closed, except for takeaways, since early November. But when I went to Winchester in December, they were open. They’ve been closed all over the UK since just before Christmas.  
> By the way, the encounter with the two men criticising Charlotte for giving money to a homeless man is a true story. Except when it happened to me, Sidney didn’t come and rescue me, and the language they used was a lot worse. Such a lovely town!


End file.
